Crafted Destiny
by xxGrAcExx
Summary: Born a Crafter, one who can see and control magic, Harry Potter is taken from the Dursleys by none other than Evan Rosier and raised as a servant of the Dark Lord. Thrown into a vicious battle for power, Harry must work around the chains of servitude to decide his own future and choose his allegiance, for the fate of the Wizarding World might as well be resting on his shoulders.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own none of the original characters of Harry Potter, nor the universe or anything JK Rowling related. This is not for profit.

Hello all! I'm back after a one-year hiatus and back with a different story. This won't be a big romance story, but more like a novel with lots of plot and goodness. I've been working on this project for a good couple months and written 50k of it during Nanowrimo. I'm super excited about this story and I hope all of you will as well! Updates will be posted every one-two weeks and I will try my best to keep to the schedule. The story _will_ be pretty long but I have every intention of finishing it.

Again, a thousand thanks to **Roheryn's Knight **for once again offering her expert mind in helping me craft the story and edit out all the grammar and character mistakes. You're amazing!

Thus, I give you Crafted Destiny. Enjoy!

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_Prologue _

_Saturday—31 October, 1981_

The night was cold and dark. Rain pounded relentlessly on glass windows as lightning flashed from the thick rolls of clouds. They sang of fate and destiny, and the wind screamed with wild freedom. With a fierce force, the storm roared down on Godric's Hallow, where yellowed lights flickered owlishly in the sleek shadows. By its grand gates, children clothed in costumes ran along the cobble stone streets, screaming with laughter in the rain as bedraggled parents followed at a more leisurely pace.

Harry Potter sat in his crib, feet pushed against each other as he reached for the ten wriggling digits that moved every time he did. Bright, green eyes sparkled in happiness as he clenched his fingers together in a tight fist. As always, the empty space around him suddenly burst in a myriad of colors, strings of shimmering lights twisting and turning around each other like snakes.

He had learned how to make the magic appear not long ago. The first time it did was on his first birthday after he had reached up and grasped his father's long tufts of hair. Rainbow flashed before his eyes and, enthralled, he reached out to touch the strings. To his parents, it was his first show of accidental magic, almost unheard at his age, but to Harry, it was a single tug of a red line that blew out the candles on his cake and set his father's hair on fire.

From then on, Harry learned the secrets of the web. They whispered to him words that he didn't understand and couldn't form on his tongue, but he understood. Life was a complicated web of colors that represented the soul and past while inanimate objects were dull and grey, unless saturated with magic. He would play with the webs, and things would happen—things that shouldn't happen, but do nevertheless.

Harry could feel his parents fear. It radiated through the strings whenever Harry conjured a flower, changed the walls from tan to bright magenta, or even something as simple as opening a window. He couldn't comprehend why the bright flashes of color would be so frightening to the adults. The webs whispered to him that they would never understand what he could do. And so he hid his powers, succumbing to the instincts of what every normal child would act upon, slobbering and speaking gibberish.

But it was tonight when Harry felt a change in the webs he had long learned to rely on and draw strength from. It felt heavier, darker, and forbidding; it scared him.

Struggling to stand on his short, stubby legs, Harry flailed as he tried to brace himself on the railing. Despite his efforts, he fell backwards and cried out in pain from the jarring impact.

Something cried out in return below him, and Harry stopped. The webs whispered dangerous things to him, things he had never heard or experienced. Harry felt the strings changing downstairs, twisting to something cruel and against the rules of the webs. He frowned. Couldn't the people below hear the webs crying? They were crying because of what was happening. Why would someone do such a horrible thing?

The door suddenly burst open, and Harry looked up in surprise, locking gazes with his mother, Lily Potter. His deep, emerald eyes met the lighter shade of hers, and he saw the fear that trembled in the magic around her.

Harry didn't understand. He wasn't talking to or using the webs. Why would she be afraid? He wanted to make her feel better, so Harry reached out with a sloppy smile that he remembered delighted her to no ends.

Lily returned a watery smile before her face hardened into a warrior's mask. She whirled around with a swish of her robes and drew her wand, flinging a light blue spell at the door.

Harry had seen such a spell before. It made doors not open. Lily had used that once to prevent him from sneaking into James's office, which was filled with all sorts of magical appliances that he was drawn to, like a moth to a light. It wasn't his fault. Magic called to him just as he called to magic.

Webs that glowed an eerie blue shot out and entangled the door. The nets of magic tightened and sang a high-pitched chant.

_Lock. Lock. Lock. Lock._

Harry pouted. The webs were talking again, words he didn't recognize or learn. But before he could worry more about the mystery, he felt a drop of wetness landing on his shoulder. Looking up, Harry stared into the eyes of his mother, unknowingly for the last time, and reached up, using his fist to wipe away more of the water on her cheeks. He tasted it. It was salty.

Lily gave a sobbing laugh, just as the doors were blown up. Harry cried with the door as the webs that protected the wood screamed in anguish. The webs were shattered into pieces, the blue strings quickly disintegrating and blending with the colors around it.

As Harry bawled with the webs, Lily shouted, and pleaded, forgetting the weapon grasped tightly in her right hand. The man above her lifted his wand and shot something sickly green and unforgettable at her.

Harry watched in slow motion as a burst of green sprung from the white Yew, breaking through the many webs that surrounded his mother and engulfing her in green flames that twisted around her form with a flash of light. They sang of death and the afterlife, their strings abnormal and distorted.

But as the green vanished, they took with them the once colorful web that surrounded Lily, contaminating the strings with a deep black. As the magic disappeared into the air, the green flames screeched once more in triumph.

It was disturbing to see someone who once had so much life void of any color. Harry drew back with a sharp cry of distress, tears springing from his eyes as the woman with red hair fell with a dull thud onto the ground, her body lacking its natural glow.

He looked up and met red eyes, a poppy red that shone with intent. As his cries quieted, Harry found himself staring at the man in curiosity. Instead of the tangles of colored strings that usually surrounded a person, a tattered web of black draped over the man, frail and vulnerable. Yet, strong waves of energy shimmered through the strings surrounding the aura.

The man was captivating, and Harry felt himself drawn to the powerful source. He wanted to get closer.

Struggling onto all fours, he crawled forward and clung to the plastic bars, lifting his feeble body up and staring bold-eyed at the man.

Harry watched with unblinking eyes as something unreadable passed through the red-eyed man. He observed the man's every move, peering as the man lifted his arm again, and spoke something, quietly, if not with a little regret.

The same green that had stolen the life and vibrancy from his mother shot toward him. Harry frowned at the green lines that ripped and grabbed power from the webs floating in the air and screamed of death. He didn't want the evil magic to touch him. It had done something bad to the red-haired woman—something he had never seen or felt before—and he didn't want it to do the same to him. He _liked_ the colors.

Forming two fists, he crossed his chubby hands in front of his face in an instinctive, defensive gesture to shield him from the malicious green magic and lifted his eyes from the spell to meet the stranger's red eyes.

To his surprise, the bolt of green seemed to bounce over a light blue force field, redirecting back at its castor and destroying the torn web. However, a sliver of the magic burst though the shield and shot straight at him.

Harry gasped and shrieked. His legs crumpled under him, and a sharp flash of pain dotted across his forehead.

He wailed in pain as the man who stood above him incinerated in the same green flames. Through teary eyes, he watched as the last remnants of the tattered black web of the man regrouped, and began floating out of the open doorway. Harry began to cry harder, his breaths hiccupping between sobs. He didn't want it to go away; he wanted to see the red-eyed man again.

Never once did he look down at Lily Potter, who rested on the ground, vacant eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

_Crafter_

_A crafter is a witch or wizard that is able to see and manipulate magic without the use of a centering tool (i.e. wand, staff, stone). They are often identified by vibrant eye color and short stature, as well as extraordinarily long fingernails, which are used to touch the magic threads, and black markings that stretch from the eyes down to the palms of the hands, both which develop when fully trained. Crafters are extremely rare and have been extinct from the Wizarding World since Merlin's death. Legend has it that only during the most desperate of times, is a crafter born to restore balance._

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Hope you all enjoyed the prologue! This is just the beginning and it will be kicking up very quickly after this. Leave me a review and tell me what you think!

Thanks!


	2. Vows Made, Futures Sealed

Hey all! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback! I honestly appreciate every review, favorite, and alert! It's very comforting to know that there are people out there who are enjoying what you write.

To answer some questions, there will be no main pairings in this story or at least none that I've decided yet. This will _not_ be a big romance story at all. There will be some "attraction" between Harry and Lucius but it's all based solely on magic. Nothing romantic.

Shout out to my beta, **Roheryn's Knight**, who, again, has helped me so much!

So here is the first chapter. Hope you all enjoy!

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_Chapter 1: Vows Made, Futures Sealed  
_

_Tuesday—July 31, 1990_

"Boy, get over here!"

Harry Potter looked up from his crouched position by the gardens. His Aunt Petunia had tasked him with removing all the weeds and plant newly-bought flowers in preparation for a neighborhood get-together she was hosting. Unsurprisingly, not one of the Dursley's remembered that it was Harry's tenth birthday, his first step into the double digits.

Sighing, Harry stood up, dusting the dirt off of his pants that were sizes too large, and strode toward the source of the loud, booming voice. He peaked into the living room and spied his Uncle and Aunt sitting on the couch, the former with a twisted grin etched on his face.

"You called, Uncle?" Harry asked carefully, stepping out further into the room.

"I've got something for you, boy," Uncle Vernon growled, his moustache jostling as he spoke.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Really?" he asked foolishly.

"Yes, boy," the large man thundered. From behind his back, he pulled out a package poorly wrapped in Christmas paper. He tossed it at the skinny boy and leaned back with an expectant smile.

Harry was astonished. He had never received a birthday present before—a real one at least. For the past few years, he had been "gifted" with used toothpicks and broken plastic forks. But to receive a gift that was wrapped? It was unheard of!

"Well, go on and open it! Your Uncle just gave you a gift and all you're going to do is stand there and look like an ungrateful fool?" Aunt Petunia reprehended shrilly.

"Thanks, Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered dutifully before sitting down on the ground and eagerly ripping off the red gift paper. Reaching inside, his face brilliant with a wide smile, Harry pulled out—

A clothes hanger and a pair of old socks?

Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Harry let the two objects fall onto the carpeted floor and looked up at his Uncle and Aunt in disbelief.

"That's it?" he blurted out incredulously, immediately regretting the words the second they left his mouth.

Uncle Vernon's face quickly darkened into an ugly puce color. "That's it?" he roared, stumbling to his feet and waving his fist angrily in Harry's direction. "We use _our_ money to buy you a present, and that's all we get? You ungrateful little freak, we give you food and a roof over your useless head, and this is how you repay us?"

Sensing his mistake, Harry backed up quickly, only to fall against a burning fireplace. Yelping, he jumped up, his hands stinging from the burning hot poker that was lying beside the fire.

Unfortunately, the sudden movement jarred the poker, which tumbled out of the fireplace and onto the discarded Christmas wrapping. In seconds, it was up in flames.

"Fire! Fire!" Aunt Petunia screamed, jumping up from the couch. "Where's my Duddydums? Fire! Put it out, Vernon, put it out!"

"You idiot boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "Put it out, you little freak! And you just wait until I get my hands on you—you'll never be able to walk straight again!"

Whimpering in pain and fear, Harry tried to hold back tears as he crawled toward the fire, which flared furiously along the burning image of reindeer. He closed his eyes, and fisted his hands together, crying out from the pain of the burnt skin.

Immediately, a myriad of colorful strings burst out in front of his eyes. Harry tried his best not to use the technique in front of his relatives, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He looked at the fire and back at the thrumming webs, his mind racing. He didn't know how to put the fire out! Grasping a handful of blue strings, he curled them together into a long braid and wished for water to put out the flames.

Miraculously, water sprang out from nowhere and doused the entire living room, effectively extinguishing the fire but soaking the rest of the inhabitants in the process.

Harry looked up from underneath his soaking fringe with frightened eyes. He watched as his Uncle turned red, then purple, then a combination of the two.

"I'll just, uh," Harry stammered, standing up quickly, "go into my cupboard with these _very nice _presents and pretend my useless hide doesn't exist."

He ran off quickly, shutting himself in the cupboard and huddling into a shivering small ball, pained tears finally leaking out of the corner of his eyes from his burned palms.

"We should have never let that freak in, pet!" Uncle Vernon roared from the living room. "He's nothing but trouble, I tell you. Him and his fools of parents!"

"I know, Vernon," Petunia said wildly. "Just forget about that little rascal. He's nothing. We'll get rid of him yet, I promise you. Now let's clean this up. The neighbors are coming in a couple of hours, and we're hideously behind schedule!"

Harry curled into himself even further, and wished that he actually never existed.

* * *

Evan Rosier was tiring. Fast.

He had been apparating nonstop for ten minutes, trying to avoid those _damned_ Aurors that tracked him like a niffler after a hoard of galleons. Normally, the Ministry officials wouldn't have stood a chance against him, outnumbered or not, but after breaking out of a heavily warded holding cell, Evan wasn't going to take any chances.

His right arm dangled uselessly against his side, the sleeve surrounding the flesh soaked in crimson blood. In his left hand, he gripped the wand he had stolen from an Auror, and apparated once more, drawing on the last remains of his magic.

Gritting his teeth as the world spun around him, Evan landed onto the ground in a rough crouch and looked around, calculating.

It was a muggle neighborhood. Lines of identical houses surrounded the empty road, each with modest gardens and white picket fences. Everything about them was perfect, dull, and all together revolting.

Evan felt his lip curl up in disgust. Repulsive cretins. It was a wonder why the Wizarding world worked so hard to save such useless lumps of fat.

Among the bare, dark houses, Evan noticed one with lights on and people pouring through the door. They were dressed in fancy dresses and sharp tuxedoes, their faces contorted in fake masks of joy as they conversed with one and another.

Giving a smile full of teeth, Evan quickly transfigured his robes into proper attire and strode into the party, blending in with the crowd of muggles. A quick wave of his wand cast a notice-me-not charm and cleared all magical traces of him in the neighborhood.

As he walked through the disgustingly regular house, Evan grabbed a glass of champagne off of the counter. Sipping the cheap glass, he turned around and nearly spit the liquid out. He wasn't sure if it was the revolting drink or the picture on the wall that made him want to shrivel up and feed himself to rabid werewolves.

In a large wooden frame were three people. Not so much people, but two whales and a skinny, distorted giraffe. The largest figure resembled a tub of lard, his enormous body easily taking up half of the picture. Next to him was a woman, neck long and skinny, her skin stained with many wrinkles and veins. And finally, the product of their—if he could even call it—_love. _It was the exact reason why the magical world shouldn't associate themselves with such… filth. It was disgusting.

Pursing his lips, Evan quickly dropped both glass and drink in a nearby trashcan, and strode down the hallway, intent on finding some sanctuary. The Aurors wouldn't dare attack him in a house so full of "innocent" muggles, but they wouldn't be put out for long.

As he passed by the stairs, Evan paused. His ears twitched and his senses sharpened. There was something… alive under the stairs.

The muggles couldn't possibly be hiding a body, could they? He had never met a muggle murderer.

Closing his eyes, Evan centered himself and felt around with his mind, looking for the source of the quick, indrawn breaths.

There. There it was. There was a small child living in the cupboard. The latch that opened the door looked as if it was nailed to the wall.

And more importantly, he could feel waves of pure, undulated power seeping from the small cracks under the cupboard door. It was tantalizing and made Evan wonder why a couple of Muggles would be hiding such a powerful child

Evan snarled lowly in disgust. He may be a sadistic Death Eater, perhaps among the most creative, but he didn't condone child abuse of the magical kind. Children were the future, something to be treasured and taught. They were a blank slate, begging to be written on with ancient and powerful knowledge.

The Muggles didn't even deserve the presence of such a powerful being. It was shameful.

Looking around, he found the large whale that he assumed to be the master of the house. He sneered. The man was just as atrocious as he was in the picture.

Striding toward the man with rage contorting his face, Evan turned the man around and glared down, his six-foot stature easily dwarfing the man.

He peered into the man's mind briefly. "Mr… Dursley," Evan drawled slowly.

Vernon looked momentarily infuriated for the disruption before he noticed the rich clothes his interrupter was wearing and the large family ring on the right hand.

"I don't believe we've met before," Vernon boomed. He clapped a beefy hand on Evan's shoulder. "My name is Vernon Dursley, and your name, my good man?"

Whatever patience he was willing to muster for the obese Muggle disappeared when the hand landed on his body. Shrugging the offensive limb away, Evan grabbed the collar of Dursley's dress shirt, pulled him close, and hissed, "Listen, you fat waste of space. I know you're hiding a child under your stairs. If you value your reputation, your life, and your family, you will open the door and let him go."

All the color in Vernon's pudgy face quickly drained. "What do you want with the freak?" he asked frantically. "He's my nephew, highly disturbed. Whatever he's done to you, take him! Take him and punish his worthless hide! We want nothing to do with him!"

Evan could feel his anger rising quickly. "Just show me the child."

Vernon quickly obeyed and stepped into the hallway. When no one was looking, he quickly yanked out the nail and opened the cupboard door.

"Boy!" he half whispered, half yelled. "Get out of there. I don't know what you've done, but you're going to pay for it."

There was a moment of silence before a quiet sniffle was heard.

"Uncle?" a small voice asked timidly.

"Yes, now get _out_," Vernon growled unkindly, reaching in and pulling the boy out.

Evan forced down the urge to blast the man into pieces and turned to the small child. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down.

The child was no doubt small for his age. He had raven black hair that stuck up in every angle imaginable. Skin was porcelain, but transparent, obviously pointing at malnutrition. But what was most prominent was the hands. The insides were charred black and peeling, the flesh swollen and red, stinking of burnt flesh.

But before Evan could launch into a raging tirade, the boy lifted his head and looked at Evan. Green eyes met brown, and the world flashed white.

Evan felt himself stumble backward in astonishment. His hands scrambled backwards for purchase as his mind replayed what he had just saw.

_Vibrant green eyes, the color of the killing curse._

_A lightning bolt carved deeply in the forehead._

_Harry bloody Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived._

But somehow, Evan could not see. Everything he saw was white. Pure, blank white. He could still hear murmurs of the muggle party around him, but nothing else.

**Evan Rosier. Son of Agron Rosier and Druella Black née Rosier. Do you accept responsibility over one, Harry James Potter?**

Evan froze. Throughout his entire life, Evan's mind had been closed to any outside force, even to the notorious Severus Snape, a Master Legilinmes. He quickly began to scour his mind, securing his defenses, looking for holes and the intruder.

**You will not find me. I am you, and among the rest of your kind. You have no choice. Harry James Potter must be part of you. It is not yet his time for death. You were destined for this role.**

_What do you mean? Who is this?_

**Be gentle, Evan Rosier, he is but a child, crafter or not. Remember, you may be his anchor, but I, his true guardian. Be warned. I will be watching.**

A bright flare of red light engulfed his vision, and Evan found himself back in the house, the fat whale and child staring at him in blank confusion.

Evan stared down at the famous Boy-Who-Lived and as it seemed, the first crafter in centuries.

"You will be coming with me, child," he said in his softest voice. It still sounded rough to his ears and he suppressed a wince.

"I am?" Harry asked, green eyes still watery. He turned to his uncle with questioning eyes, who continued to stare at Evan with beady eyes, his face as pale as a ghost.

"Do remember what I said, Dursely," Evan threatened lowly. "I cannot remain this pleasant for long."

"Yes, yes," Vernon blubbered. "He's all yours. Now get out of here, and take the freak with you. We never want to see his face ever again!"

"With pleasure," Evan hissed in distaste. But before he could take another step, the house rocked violently and something exploded in the distance.

_Damn, the Aurors. I've stalled for far too long._

Gritting his teeth, Evan grabbed the child's hand, ignoring the spark of connection, and dragged the crafter after him. With the heel of his dragonhide boots, he broke the frail glass window and jumped outside, pulling Harry along.

"Do not stray from my side," Evan ordered sharply. "Do not talk and follow me."

Harry nodded meekly, his mind racing. What on earth was happening? Who was this man, and why did his Uncle give him away?

He had been crying softly in the dark corner of his cupboard, trying to ignore the party bustling outside of his small room. The aroma of savory foods and sound of rushing water nearly made Harry drool, but he controlled himself, thinking about his Uncle's furious face if he snuck out.

And now here he was, given away like a simple gift, from one owner to another. Harry didn't understand, and the webs around him, which had become increasingly loud and prominent over the past few years, had fallen silent.

A bright red spell suddenly spat at the pair, and Evan easily raised a blue shield to reflect it. Harry looked at the shimmering cover with wide eyes.

"You can do it too!" he shouted, forgetting the previous order. He watched as the webs suddenly appeared, weaving into thick, intricate lines. "Can you see lines and webs too? I can make all sorts of things happen!"

"Shush, child," Evan snapped, ushering him into the safety of the trees. "I will answer your questions later. Now hold onto me and close your eyes."

Harry did that and clung tightly to the man's dark suit. But as he did, he felt another spell flying at them, and pulled on orange strings that pulsated in the air, thinking of a mirror.

The spell bounced back to its castor, causing a huge explosion and heated flames.

"Stop, do not shoot!" an elderly voice shouted. "He's got a child!"

Harry creaked open an eye to stare at a wizard dressed in bright purple robes, a long white beard blowing sideways from the wind. He looked up at the man above him and asked, "is that Merlin?"

"No, that is not Merlin," Evan barked with little patience. "Now hush, let me handle this." He stared at the old wizard, and spoke in his usual drawl. "Let down the anti-apparation wards, and I won't hurt him." He dug his wand under Harry's chin and sneered maliciously.

"Not until you hand over the child unharmed," Albus Dumbledore rumbled, drawing a black wand. The Aurors surrounding the wizard echoed the movement, though with wide eyes as they stared at the Boy-Who-Lived, caught in the grasps of a notorious Death Eater.

"Harry, I want you to listen very carefully," Evan said softly, crouching down to meet Harry's eyes. His wand, however, did not stray. "I want you to think of the safest place that I own and will us there."

"Do not listen to him, Harry!" Dumbledore shouted from his place.

Harry looked around wildly. "How do I do that? Who are you? What's happening?"

"Answers later," Evan said waspishly. "Now do as I say, or that man will take you away and force you back with your Uncle and Aunt. You don't want that now, do you?"

Frowning, Harry shook his head and closed his eyes.

_The safest place that this strange man owns. I don't want to stay with the Dursleys for any longer. Please, please, please, take us away. _

He clenched his hands together in a tight fist, his nails digging into the burnt flesh, and prayed. The webs around their bodies began to dance, faster and faster, glowing a grey color, and Harry spun the strings in his mind, wishing to get away from the place.

"Sir, they're disappearing!"

"Stunning spells!" Dumbledore roared, shooting a strong, red spell at the pair.

But it was too late. Harry and Evan had disappeared through the anti-apparation wards.

* * *

Harry and Evan stumbled out of midair, the former landing face down on a floor of magnificent marble while the latter stepped out of the air confidently.

"Excellent work, Harry," Evan praised. "I didn't doubt you once. You've got quite an amount of power for someone so young."

Groaning, Harry carefully lifted himself off of the ground, nursing his bruised cheek. His head spun wildly and his body felt as light as a feather. To his surprise, Harry's limbs didn't seem to be cooperating to his mental commands. Looking up at the stranger, Harry gave a look full of sadness.

"Why m' I so tired," Harry whispered hazily. "There's two of you, now one, and—" he fell over in a dead faint, his head hitting the marble floor with a dull thunk.

Evan looked at the child in mild surprise. He had expected the boy to remain conscious, especially after such an impressive display of power, apparating through _Albus Dumbledore's_ wards. Finding himself mildly disappointed, he snapped his finger, and a trembling house elf appeared in front of him.

"Bring me a pepper-up, a calming draught, and a pain reliever," he ordered sharply.

"Yes Master," the house elf bowed before popping away.

Using his wand, Evan levitated the boy onto a nearby couch, careful not to move his injured arm. He set the child on the cushions and let out a breath of relief. He made it. He was back in the Rosier Manor.

And with a miraculous stroke of luck, found the first crafter since Merlin's time, who also happened to be the beloved Boy-Who-Lived.

Evan frowned as he thought back to what he had learned about the crafter, a skill that rarely anyone would recognize nowadays.

A crafter could see and manipulate magic to his/her will. They drew magic from its purest source and was powerful beyond belief. At the height of his/her power, the crafter would receive images through the so-called webs of magic by the Mother herself. Extinct for centuries, only those from old families would recognize the power and potential of one. The Rosier family was no exception.

As the house elf popped back into the room, vials levitated obediently behind him, Evan snatched the potions and fixed the creature with a glare.

"I want you to go into the family library and find every book that mentions crafters. Search everything. And me bring my pensieve."

"Yes Master," the house elf muttered before disappearing again.

Downing the pain reliever in one gulp, Evan sighed in relief as the raging pain in his arm subsided. Pointing his wand at the wounded limb, he murmured a charm that would disinfect and stitch the cut. The wand briefly bucked against its foreign owner but Evan stubbornly channeled his magic into the wood until it was forced into obeying.

He glanced over at the unconscious boy. Harry looked impossibly small and unhealthy, his skin pallid and skin stretched tight over bones. His black mop of hair lay limply against the boy's face, which was scrunched up in what seemed like pain.

Sighing and hoping he wasn't already going soft, Evan _renervated_ the boy and caught his flailing body as he jerked up in surprise. Forcing the calming draught down is throat, then a pepper up, Evan settled himself in the adjacent armchair and waited for Harry to finish trying to cough up his lungs.

When Harry turned wary eyes on him, Evan felt his breath catch as piercing green eyes stared deep into his. He steeled himself and closed his face of emotions.

The two continued to stare at each other before the boy broke the silence.

"Who are you… sir?"

"That is none of your concern at the moment," Evan said snappishly. He didn't know how much the boy knew about magic. And who knows how many lies (or truths) the light side had fed to Boy-Who-Lived. "How old are you?"

Harry shrank back at the tone and looked at the man with wide eyes. "T-ten, sir."

"Already ten?" Evan muttered while his mind raced to gather what little information he had about crafters stored in his head. "I believe the latest age was six. Or was it seven." He raised his voice. "Damnit, where is that elf. Miffy!"

There was brief pause before the house elf popped back into the room, a stack of three crumbling books floating beside him.

"Are those the only books you could find?" Evan demanded while he grabbed the books out from the air.

"Yes, Master," Miffy said.

Evan sighed. "Very well. Go back to your duties."

As the elf disappeared, Harry uncurled himself slightly from where he had flung himself backwards against the couch when the creature appeared and stared with wide eyes where the thing used to be.

"What was that?" he asked, awe and horror coloring his voice.

"A house-elf, what do you think?" Evan snapped.

Harry recoiled violently. A low whimper escaped his lips before he clamped his lips together stubbornly. No! He wasn't allowed to make noise!

Mentally slapping himself for acting so impulsively, Evan tried to mold his face into a friendly expression. Judging by the child's face, he wasn't doing a very good job of it, and he let his usual mask of indifference fall into place. He wasn't meant for _coddling_.

"Look. Pot-Harry. You are safe here. I won't hurt you. No one will."

"But I'm a good for nothing freak," Harry muttered, peaking up from beneath his lashes. "Why would you want to protect me?"

Evan began to list different ways he could mutilate and murder the Dursley's. To treat a child so, to defile the blank slate with words of unworthiness; it was a crime even to him. It was a crime _done_ to him. "You aren't a freak," he said firmly, wondering when he had gotten soft. He needed to torture someone if he had to continue feeding the boy self-esteem. "You are special, like me. Am I a freak?"

"Oh, no, not at all, sir," Harry rushed out, tripping over his words. "No, no, you're a wonderful person, sir."

"You and I are alike, Harry," Evan said in a low voice, moving toward the couch and crouching by the boy. "We're more alike than you think. There's something inside of you—inside of us—that makes us special. Makes us different. Makes us powerful, something your relatives would never understand."

He looked deep into Harry's dark green eyes and suddenly, an idea brewed in his mind. It was ingenious. His political and financial future would be solved and anchored, and he would have a crafter by his side—by his Lord's side—and the Dark would prevail.

"Listen, child," Evan murmured softly, taking a small hand into his. "We people need to stick together."

"Stick… together?"

"Yes, be with each other for a very long time. You'd like that right? You wouldn't want to be forced back with your Uncle and Aunt? If I disappeared, you'd have to go back."

"No!" Harry exclaimed with surprising volume. "I won't go back. I can't. Sir, please, may I stay with you?"

Evan gave a devilish grin and adrenaline rushed through his veins. "Yes, but you must make me a promise. Make me an oath. Make me a _vow_."

"Anything," Harry begged without hesitation, fixing his innocent eyes on the man. "I'll do anything than spend another day with the Dursley's."

"Then you must take my hand," said Evan while simultaneously calling the head elf of the Rosier family. "Hokey, you will serve as our bonder."

"As my Master commands," the old, squat elf muttered. White, brittle hair spouted from the house elf's wrinkled head and his back was bent nearly in half with age. Hokey had served the Rosier family for generations, and was the only one trusted enough to perform such an important deed.

"Good, now Harry. Listen carefully. I will ask you a few questions and you will agree. Then, when we are finished, you may stay here, away from your relatives. You will be mine."

The ten-year old stared up at Evan, caution coloring his eyes for the first time. "This isn't a trick or anything, right?" he asked slowly. "Dudley used to make empty promises all the time, and it's not funny."

"No, of course not," Evan whispered, stroking the back of Harry's hand. "Now, I will ask and you will agree. Understood? All you must say is, 'I will.'"

"Yes, I understand."

"Will you, Harry, agree to stay by my side and support me until death do us part?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "I will." He gasped as a rope of magic linked their hands together. The magic was red and pulsating, and he could see and feel the webs of magic intertwining between their bodies.

"And will you never raise a hand against me, to hurt, maim, or kill any part of my being or status?"

"I will."

"And will you remain loyal to me and whoever I serve?"

"I will."

The three chains of magic fused into one and the vow was sealed.

Hokey bowed lowly, his crooked nose brushing the ground before he popped away, leaving the two alone. Evan stood from his kneeled position and shot what he hoped was a friendly smile at the child.

"Good, then you may stay. Now, there are many things I must teach you in so little time. You will become like my son, Harry." His eyes smoldered like flames. "You will be _his_ protégé."

* * *

Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Unrestrained flattery? Leave me a review and tell me! (:


	3. The Seven Deadly Sins

Happy New Years you guys! Hope you had a wonderful night and cheers to 2014!

This chapter is a bit of an information filler but it's very important you read to the end. There's some facts you'll need to know and understand for later chapters. I promise that the next chapter will pick up and you'll meet some new characters. Including Lucius.

Thanks again to **Roheryn's Knight **for doing such a wonderful job of catching my mistakes.

Enjoy!

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_Chapter 2 The Seven Deadly Sins_

_Wednesday—August 1, 1990_

The next morning, Harry found himself sitting across from the man who had taken him from his relatives' home. He met the dark brown eyes of the man he had yet to learn the name of and found himself wondering if he made the right decision when he ran away with a stranger.

Last night, after promising never to leave (as strange as that sounded), the odd creature—something the man called a house elf—led him to his own room. His very own room, with his own bed with soft covers, sheets that smelt like fresh cotton, large windows, and actual floor room where he could walk. It was like a dream, something he could only imagine having in his ten years living with the Dursleys.

But he was at the age where naivety was beginning to fade and replaced with hardened experience and wisdom. This man, the one who could do what he could do and make things appear out of nowhere was his only chance of truly belonging somewhere. No one he knew could see webs and do what could only be described as sorcery.

It was as if he was a wizard or something.

Harry continued to stare at the man in front of him. He lightly flinched as the odd creature appeared with a loud pop to place two plates of steaming breakfast in front of them. The smell of creamy eggs and crispy bacon wafted into his nose and he noisily swallowed the saliva that began appearing in his mouth.

The man continued to eat with Harry watching before a look of irritation flashed across his face. Sighing, he put down his knife on the table and gestured to the food.

"Don't just sit there and look like a fool. Where are your manners? Eat, you're skinny enough as it is."

Harry frowned but didn't reply. He sat down and dug into the food with ferocity, his stomach empty since the day before He wasn't a stranger to hunger, but it was never pleasant, one circumstance or the other.

As he chewed, he glanced up at the man again, who was neatly cutting his eggs in small pieces, his blue eyes focused on the plate.

"It's not polite to stare," he rebuked without lifting his head.

Harry blushed but refused to back away. "Sorry, sir. It's just… I really don't understand what's going on."

"What's not to understand?" Evan asked dispassionately.

"Everything!" Harry resisted the urge to throw his hands over his head. "I've just been kidnapped from my Aunt and Uncle by you, who, by the way, I still don't know the name of, and then there's some kind of ridiculous magic going on that's bonding the two of us together with a promise, and not to mention _that_," Harry pointed wildly at the house elf that popped in with a steaming plate of fresh bread. "What even is that?"

Evan stared at the boy and silently bemoaned to himself. The boy was a bloody Gryffindor.

"Fine. Tell me what you know about magic, Harry."

"That it doesn't exist," Harry answered promptly, knowing the answer by heart. His relatives had more or less banned the m-word in the household.

Evan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose together. It was just as he suspected. "Let us start with something easier. You told me yesterday that you could see webs of light. That you can make things appear out of nowhere."

Harry looked around nervously. "Yes, that's true. I'm being honest, I swear!"

"Prove it then."

"What?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Prove it," repeated Evan. "Prove that you can make anything appear with those so-called webs of yours. Otherwise, I won't believe you."

"I told you I'm not lying!" Harry huffed.

"Then prove it to me. Prove me wrong."

With heroic effort, Harry suppressed the urge to snarl and clenched his fists together, watching with a satisfied smile as a familiar pattern of webs appeared. Rather than the sparse webs around his relatives' house, here, the walls, furniture, and air were thick and thrumming with webs weaved together so intricately and tightly that there was no telling where the beginning and where the end was. The strings hummed with life and pure magic.

"Wow," he murmured under his breath. He sneaked a glance at the man, who was watching him with unblinking eyes.

Feeling pressured and a slight bit disjointed, Harry looked around for a string of web. Finding the blue interweaved with all the others, he gave a violent tug and a gush of water appeared from the ceiling, soaking them and their breakfast in the process.

Harry gasped, wiping the hair from his forehead and glanced fearfully at the man. "Oh lord, I'm sorry sir, I'm not sure how to control this at all!"

But instead of becoming furious, the man gave a wicked smile that sent chills down his arms. "Don't apologize, boy. That was perfect! A magnificent show of magic, indeed." He flicked a stick of wood by his side and the water instantly dried.

Harry felt his mouth dry as well.

The webs gave the barest twitch. He could see small balls of light fly out of the wood and expand over the water. It was incredible, and happened in a split second.

"How did you do that?" he asked in awe.

Evan could feel his patience waning from the boy's persistent questions. He was becoming soft. Unbelievably soft for a boy he only met yesterday.

It was disgusting.

"That's enough of your questions," he snapped. Blue eyes flashed. "We have so much to do in so little time, there is no time for such frivolous matters. Come with me."

Harry felt himself recoil from the man's sudden change in attitude. He gave a longing glance at the other half of his breakfast before he sighed and stood up from the table. Following the still-unknown man, he bit back questions as he watched figures inside of portraits that hung on the hallway walls moving and talking.

Finally, he couldn't hold back and the flood burst through his poorly constructed dam. "Why are the pictures moving?"

Evan forced himself to pry his hand off of his wand, one finger at a time. He would not curse the boy. Not yet, when he needed to build trust and dependence, so that the boy would serve him and his Lord faithfully.

"Because of magic," he said clearly, spinning around to level Harry with his eyes. "What you can see is magic in its most potent, raw form. Magic exists, Harry. Wizards and witches exist. Things you read in fairy tales—unicorns, zombies, flying brooms—they all exist."

Harry felt his head spin. Magic? The very thing his Aunt and Uncle were so persistent about driving through his head that it didn't exist?

But nevertheless it made sense. The webs he could see, his hair growing back, the ability to create something out of nothingness. No, he wasn't possessed by a demon, no, he was a _wizard_.

And this man had told him what his relatives wouldn't. He was his real family now, just as he promised the day before. This is where he belonged, with freaks like him.

Evan led Harry down the long, bleak hall. A small smirk began to appear on his face. He could see the wheels turning in the boy's head. He was gaining that trust, that dependence, that loyalty he wanted.

It was only a matter of time before the true lessons would begin.

* * *

Evan led the boy toward a large study table seated in the middle of the manor's vast library. Pushing Harry's shoulders down so the gaping boy would sit, his eyes glued on the mere movement of books rearranging themselves, Evan slid into a chair directly across and wordlessly summoned a couple of books.

Folding his hands together and staring down at Harry, Evan dragged up what patience he had managed to save in his thirty-one years of life. He started from what the beginning would be for the ignorant child in front of him. "Magic, Harry, is not a mere tool. It is a sentient being. Something that has been living for centuries. We wizards thrive off of magic—our bodies and our blood thrum with it—it is the core of our existence."

"And as we thrive off of magic, magic thrives off of us. We call her the Mother. Her being, her entity, her body is magic itself. She is the heart of magic, the very roots of our unique power. Most witches and wizards forgotten about her and the true origin of magic—instead, they blindly use their wands without a clue about its origin or why we can use this magic, and muggles cannot."

"We owe her our lives. Our bodies, our soul, our entities; she is who fuels us with magic and life source. She, however, has no means of communication with her children. While there is usually no need for such a connection, in times of unbalance, it is her duty to keep magic alive and pure."

"This is where you come in, Harry," Evan said, looking deep into the boy's eyes. "You are a crafter. There is always only one crafter that lives at a time because that person is born as the voice and body of the Mother herself. Your body and mind is composed of the purest magic, and those webs you see is magic as close to physical as possible."

Harry frowned at the man. All the information just seemed so… impossible to him. Too coincidental. "Let's say I believe you," he began slowly. "Why are you here then? And who were those people last night who were chasing us? Why would magic choose me?"

Evan scowled. "I'm not lying, _boy_." He ignored the flinch. "And stop asking questions. Wait for me to finish speaking, and then you can ask. But to answer your first question, a crafter is one who can see magic in its purest form. However, he or she is also vulnerable to getting lost in these so called webs and becoming lost to the physical world. Normally, the Mother bonds her crafter to an adult, who serves as a grounder. The grounder is responsible for keeping the crafter's magic in check and preventing him or her from falling too deeply into the magic."

"So you're my grounder?"

"You could say that, yes. It's a bit of an unusual situation however. From what I have read, crafters are generally bound by the age of six. Without an anchor, they always die, succumbing to their madness. But you… You, Harry, you're special." Evan's eyes gleamed with excitement. "You were able to hold your own until you were _ten_. And not only that, but you were able to exert some control over the magic and webs. The only reason I can fathom for why you haven't a bonder is because you lived with those filthy muggles who would only worsen the situation."

Harry mulled that over in his mind. That made sense. The Dursleys practically cringed at the idea of responsibility over him.

An idea dawned on him. "The Dursleys always told me that magic doesn't exist," Harry murmured thoughtfully. "And I believed them. If I didn't, I would be punished."

Evan gave a sharp smile. The boy wasn't as dull as he thought. "And that was why you were never driven to insanity by the webs. You believed it was a simple figment of your imagination—an abnormality. It was something you tried to ignore, because if you used the magic, your uncle would be furious."

Harry nodded. "And he would keep telling me that my parents believed in that 'mumble jumble,' which was why they died in a car accident."

Evan felt himself freeze. James and Lily Potter die in a car crash? It was ridiculous. Despite his hatred for the Light side, he held a grudging respect for the two. They were relatively competent compared to the rest of the Wizarding world.

"Your parents were wizards like us, Harry," Evan said. "They died from treachery because they tried to rebel against the Dark Lord. They were bad people, just like your Uncle said. Except the only thing he left out was their magic."

Harry felt the last shred of his old life tear and burn violently. "They didn't die in a car crash?" he asked hollowly. "How did they die? Why did they rebel?"

Evan hid his smirk. "They were murdered because they committed treason. Horrible treason that cost the lives of wizards like us. Don't expect to feel proud about your heritage, Harry. They were traitors. Might as well have been drunkards killed in a car accident."

He eyed the shaking boy. Walking over to the opposite side of the table, he knelt down and touched Harry's knee. "They were weak-minded. Lacking ambition. They died trying to fight for the wrong side. The Dark Lord killed them, and rightfully so, but he spared _you_. He saw your potential, and instead marked your forehead." Reaching up, Evan lightly traced the lightning bolt on Harry's head and barely suppressed a violent shiver from the jolt of dark magic that emanated from the scar. "That's why I found you. You're the redemption to the Potter name. You were born, born as a crafter, to help wrong the Light side, who fight to exterminate us. You were born with a _purpose_, Harry Potter. Your parents failed you. Your relatives failed you. The man who was in charge of you—Albus Dumbledore—failed you. The Light side put you in that abusive home. They wanted to make you _weak _to manipulate you."

Evan leaned closer and whispered in Harry's ear. "You were born to serve the Dark Lord. Your fate is intertwined with him and the Dark side. Together, you can help rebuild the Wizarding world. You can fight to redeem your family honor. But to do this, you must train. You must learn. I will help you with that, Harry. I can help you do this. Your duty is to stand by the Dark Lord and serve the Mother. Mine is to help you."

Harry felt himself shaking uncontrollably. It was too much. Everything was just too much. His parents whom he had never met were traitors, fighting against their own kind, and he was bond to serve this Dark Lord? He felt his eye begin to twitch.

Evan watched in mild concern as the boy froze. Perhaps he was a little too strong in revealing his carefully tweaked truth.

Finally, Harry was able to force his lips to form words. "My parents were not traitors!" he choked out. It was like déjà vu; the Dursleys telling him about his drunkard parents. "They loved me!"

"Then why did they leave you to the Dursleys?" Evan sneered derisively, leaning back with open confidence. "They could have saved you. But no, for their own honor, their _pride_, they let their only son die. Not only that, they left you in the care of your dear Aunt and Uncle. Your parents fought for the rights of people like your repulsive relatives. _Muggles_. The same who wanted to kill you, kill me, and kill our people. They were traitors to their own kind, and to the Dark Lord."

"Your parents are the perfect image of the seven sins: they were too _proud_ to bend and save their son. _Jealous_ of the power true wizards had. Driven by _lust_ to commit murder. Acting from _anger_ and hatred. _Greedy_ for power. Ordering people to do their own dirty work. They are the seven deadly sins."

"Harry. You are the redemption. You are the new generation—the one who can save what makes us special. Magic, Harry. You forget that you are magic, a crafter. You are bound to save what is pure."

Evan stood and loomed over the frightened boy. It was best he enforced these few… details about Lily and James Potter. Lifting his wand, he pressed them to Harry's temple. With his other hand, he covered Harry's mouth and pushed to stop the protests.

"Your parents were traitors. You fight for the Dark Lord. As your anchor, you will obey me for your own good."

He watched as the child's eyes glazed over, feeling no regret for manipulating the boy.

Yes, their bond. As anchor and crafter. His sole duty was to keep the crafter safe and grounded to the physical world. The anchor was given power to command the crafter in order to successfully be able to pull the crafter from dangerous daydreams or abuse of power. That was why the anchor was chosen specifically by the Mother herself.

But Evan was given this power. This opportunity. And he wouldn't be a Slytherin if he didn't take advantage of the authority.

Whispering a spell, he felt the net dissipate and latch onto Harry's mind, twisting and weaving so that the beliefs would be deeply grounded. He removed his hand from the boy's mouth slowly and stared deep into emerald eyes.

"Harry. Do you love your parents?"

Genuine anger and disgust gleamed in his eyes. Harry sneered in a malicious way that no ten-year old should. "No. They betrayed the Dark Lord and people like him. How can I be related to people so ignorant of the right way?"

Evan gave a smirk and settled back on his heels. Things were progressing just the way he wanted them to. The boy was even beginning to speak like him.

"Perfect," Evan purred. "And now we move onto more important issues. We will begin your lessons starting tomorrow. You will need to learn proper etiquette, the history of and figures of the wizarding world, and how to control these webs you see. Do not expect an easy couple of years—I do not want an incompetent protégé under _his_ hand."

Harry felt something nagging at the back of his head but he ignored it. This man was his anchor. His mission was to protect him so that the man could return the favor. But who was he to say no to his very own savior?

He felt his previous anger recede. Breathing heavily, Harry stared at the man. "Who are you really?"

Evan paused. An idea slowly gathered in his head and he gave a savage grin. "Why, don't you recognize your very own godfather?"

Time shattered and Harry gasped. "I have a godfather?" he asked incredulously.

Evan stood up and put a hand roughly on the boy's shoulder. "Yes. I was… friends with your father before he turned against us. I remained your godfather, however, because you are _family_. Even when I couldn't save your father against his own sins, I could still save you."

Harry stared up at the man—his godfather—and felt a smile stretch widely across his face. His parents may have been traitors, but Evan liked him. No, he loved him. His teacher had told them that people protect their loved ones.

Harry was loved. Not a freak, but _loved_.

Evan watched as the boy looked up at him with adoring eyes and mentally applauded himself. Perhaps a bit of empathy here and there would reinforce their growing connection. Suffering an onslaught of child emotions was a small sacrifice for the triumph of the Dark.

This time, he could do little to stop a dark grin from twisting across his shadowed face.

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Evil Evan, am I right? Well hope you enjoyed all of that! And hopefully, Harry's childhood will be satisfactory to all you wonderful readers. Thank you all for your reviews; it's very touching to know that people are enjoying this.

Lestrange: Harry's loyalty will be bound by the vow as well as some other restrictions that will appear later in this story. He will admire Voldemort's power and intelligence but ultimately he will not be dark, nor will he be light. And yes, Harry will be going to Hogwarts for a bit!

Leave me a review with comments or questions! They are some of the biggest inspirations for writers!


	4. Seek and You Shall Find

Hey all! Thank you so much for waiting! First, I would like to say that I will be replying to certain reviews down below. These will be questions or comments that I find interesting/something to explain. I apologize if I do not get to every reviewer but I honestly appreciate every little piece of feedback, whether it be one word or one hundred. Just know that every reader is well appreciated and loved by your dear author.

Thanks again to **Roheryn's Knight **for helping me out with this chapter! I hope you all enjoy this especially long chapter!

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_Chapter 3: Seek and You Shall Find_

_Wednesday—October 31, 1990_

Harry raised the glass of pumpkin juice up to the ceiling of his room in a toast and downed the drink in one tilt of his head.

_Happy death day, mother, father_, he thought darkly to himself. _Cheers to the both of you_.

Pouring himself another shot, he settled back in the mountains of pillows and sipped the drink, staring blankly ahead.

The past few months had been nothing short of difficult. Strict training and lessons gave him little to no time to himself; no time to think and reflect. Only hours of straight magic theory, history, etiquette, practice, and everything a proper, Pureblood crafter should know. It was exhausting.

But Evan was to be gone for the day, leaving him alone in the manor for the first time.

And for some reason, Harry felt nervous.

He was learning to control the magic. He could push away the overwhelming amounts of webs and could concentrate on the few he needed at times. But there were still accidents when he became lost in the myriad of strings, where he would have ended up a vegetable if it had not been for his anchor, who would dutifully pulled him out of his daydream with a scowl and a sharp retort.

Evan was his savior. His savior from his relatives and his savior from his traitorous parents. God forbid he be left with anyone else. Not only that, Evan was his godfather. Someone to be trusted.

Grimacing at a sharp pain at his temple, Harry reached up to rub at his forehead. He thought he glimpsed a pale, white web tangled in his hair, but when he blinked, it was gone.

Harry sighed and sank deeper in the pillows. He was going mad. He was ten years old and suffering from separation anxiety. It was pathetic.

Despite himself, he reached down and touched a thin metal bracelet encircling his wrist. The bracelet was an ouroboros, the thin snake's head crowned with a circle of sparkling green gems.

It was more or less a monitoring band. If his magic ever sprang out of control or if he was in danger of losing himself in the webs, Evan would be alerted. He would have to hold his own until his grounder came to save him.

And Harry was more than capable of holding his own. With as much control he had over his webs, he had no problem dealing with most wizards and witches. It was his own problems he had to deal with.

Sighing, Harry forced himself off of the bed, placing his empty glass on his nightstand before pulling on a robe on over his night gown. Evan had told him little of where he was going or what Harry was and wasn't allowed to do on his own.

He was perfectly content with doing what he wanted most—explore his new home.

Opening the door, Harry padded outside, his sharp eyes darting around the corners of the hallway, as if expecting his guardian to jump out with a harsh reprimand and slap on the wrist. Clenching his hand together, the familiar view of webs popped into existence.

At his point of training, the webs were no longer unfamiliar strings of bright colors and quiet whispers. He could single out a web of magic almost naturally and manipulate it to his own will. Harry's eyes softened as he reached up to caress the warm magic in his palm, breathing out as string twined around his finger and murmured words of safety and protection.

Magic had a funny way of differentiating different types of magic. There was no color that represented each spell; but somehow, from his gut, he was able to tell by the mixture of colors and the whispers of what he was looking at. Most webs were simply made of pure magic, a basic foundation for magic-users to pull on and create a spell from intent. That was what Harry did best: creating spells impossible to any other man with a simple twitch of his fingers.

Evan could do little to teach him about learning the secrets of the webs. That was left to the few ancient second-hand accounts of what a crafter could see, hear, and practice. Suffice to say, it led to more than enough close calls on his side.

After noticing no suspicious pieces of magic, Harry continued down the hallway and down the winding flight of stairs that led to his wing of the manor. He glanced at the sleeping portraits and quickly weaved an invisibility charm over his body.

Striding quickly down the hallway, past the kitchen, dining room, and tea room, Harry paused to peak into several broom closets and overly extravagant loos. He smothered a chuckle. His relatives would have happily died on the polished, marble floors if they could even take a shit in the gleaming toilet.

Still smirking, Harry opened another door and found it locked. Frowning, he tried the ornate door knob again and found it stuck fast.

Crouching, he eyed the snake shaped handle, which was arched, its mouth open as if ready to take a bite of an intruder. He reached out to the handle and, to his astonishment, the snake came to life, its head snapping forward and jaws closing down on thin air as he barely snatched his hand back in time.

Harry stared at the door handle incredulously as the snake settled back into its original position, a hiss emerging from its opened mouth.

_Sssss…. Intruder… must kill intruder…._

Harry felt himself freeze. Was it him or did the snake just… talk?

_Sssstupid boy….. ssss…. I am lock… lock lock…. no one but master… sssss.._

Bristling, Harry glared at the offending décor. It didn't seem too weird that the door knob was talking. If portraits and mirrors could, why not doors?

_I'm not ssstupid _he told the door knob childishly. _You're sstupid_.

There was no response. Harry wasn't expecting one, but he kicked the door anyways, bruising his bare toe in the process.

Swearing under his breath, Harry glared at the immobile snake. Challenge accepted.

Concentrating, Harry opened his eyes to the webs again and felt himself stumble back.

The door was shimmering with webs of all colors, the amount of magic so thickly layered that it would reach his wrist if he placed his hand flat on the surface.

He narrowed his eyes. Wards this thick were only made for two things: a house or something secretly important. And anything secretly important was never good.

But before he could try and break down the webs, a house elf popped by his side.

"Master Harry!" Miffy squeaked, wringing her hands together. "A guest is waiting for Master Evan in the drawing room. Should Miffy tell the guest to come back later?"

Harry nodded sagely, hoping the house elf hadn't noticed him breaking into Evan's private office. "Yes, have him come back when Evan returns."

Bowing, Miffy popped away and Harry exhaled heavily.

That was much too close. The house elves were bound to his godfather and were required to report anything to Evan.

Feeling slightly guilty for attempting to intrude in Evan's own privacy, Harry retraced his steps back toward his wing, looking forward to drowning himself in more pumpkin juice.

Just as he passed the drawing room, however, he heard a loud argument erupting.

"No, you blasted elf! Bring me your master immediately! I know this manor well enough to know that there is someone living here! Go back to your master and bring him here! Tell him that I received his letter and we have much to discuss."

"Miffy is telling the truth! Master is not home!"

"Why you little—" the voice cut off and a bang sounded from within the room.

Gasping, Harry ran toward the two large wooden doors and wrenched them open. Pulling on his webs, he shot into the room, his magic raising to dangerous levels as he faced the intruder.

But as he made eye contact with a pair of dark, grey eyes, he felt himself freeze.

The man was tall—taller than Evan even—and wore long, elegant green robes that folded and flowed down his body like a waterfall. His long, blond hair was tied in a low ponytail, framing his aristocratic features. Heeled dragonhide boots accented his angular legs as the blond towered over the fallen house elf, a walking stick in one hand and a wand in the other pointing at Miffy.

Lucius Malfoy nearly snarled as he was interrupted from cursing the insolent creature. His dark magic twisted and paced restlessly in his body like a rabid beast, screaming and thrashing to be used. With aurors patrolling his manor day and night following the fall of the Dark Lord, Lucius had no choice but to use nothing but light spells if only to protect his family.

Two days ago, he received a peculiar letter from a man he thought dead for years. Evan Rosier, a once feared Death Eater notorious for his dueling and sadism, was a man of few words. The Dark Lord favored the man, mostly because of their shared lust for bloodshed and death. He rarely spoke to his fellow Death Eaters, and when he did, they were written letters of subtly veiled threats or requests.

In his letter to Lucius, Evan had written a short message. _Find me and you shall learn. Seek me and you shall gain. _

The simple fact that Evan Rosier had somehow escaped the clutches of the aurors and had sent a message to him, another Death Eater, could lead to nothing but the Dark Lord.

And so Lucius had stormed to the Rosier manor, finding himself able to pass through the wards. But to be met with and denied by a house elf was an insult Lucius wouldn't let pass. He knew the manor well enough from the past to know that the house was inhabited.

Eyes snapping to the door, Lucius nearly dropped his wand shock and felt for the first time: astonishment.

A boy who looked no older than eight years old stood between the two ornate wooden doors. His eyes were a poisonous green, almost the identical color of the killing curse but more vibrant and _alive_. What drew his attention the most was the tidal wave of magic he felt upon the boy's entrance. Magic swirled around his body, forming what looked like a pair of spiked wings looming over his head. It thrummed, sang, and danced around the boy, wrapping around him like a cocoon of indestructible magic.

Lucius felt something dormant stir deep within him.

Taking a step back, he placed his wand back into the walking stick and stood up straight, ignoring the pathetic blubbering from the house elf behind him and took a small step toward the boy.

"What is your name, child?" he asked softly. His fingers twitched, craving to touch such an embodiment of power.

Lucius was known for many things. He was known for his love of beauty, his love of blood, and lastly, his love for magic. The Dark Lord's alluring power had been a major reason why he joined as a Death Eater. He was drawn to powerful magic; the more dangerous, the more exotic, the better.

And here before him stood a boy that had his body trembling and craving more, more, more of this enthralling magic

Harry stared at the man with wide eyes. He could feel his resolve to protect the house elf and his home weaken under the piercing gray eyes. Grabbing the webs around him, he wove them in a protective shield around him and gathered magic in his palms.

"Who are you?" he retorted, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

Lucius couldn't even bring himself to sneer at the boy's lack of manners. The magic was so ever intoxicating…

The Floo behind him suddenly flared and Evan strode out, taking in the scene without a flinch from his violet eyes. He watched with narrowed eyes as the boy made eye contact with the man and the tangible magic surrounding him vanished. The brush of powerful magic, however, remained thick and heavy in the air.

Evan could barely believe his luck. He couldn't imagine a better first meeting between Lucius Malfoy and his young protégé.

"Lucius," he murmured indifferently, giving a small bow to the man. "I see you have met my student."

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. "Student?" he asked in a haughty voice.

Evan hummed in confirmation and beckoned Harry closer. The boy obeyed, walking over to Evan albeit a bit cautiously, his eyes never moving from the stranger.

He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed. "Yes, he is someone you will be eager to meet sometime in the future. You have felt his magic and he is only ten years of age."

_Draco's age_, Lucius thought curiously. The boy was extraordinarily small and skinny for even a ten year old. "Does the boy have a name?"

Before Harry could speak up, Evan squeezed his shoulder tighter and gave Lucius a cold smile. "Yes he does." He did not care to elaborate.

Lucius knew that Evan was toying with him. His fascination with magic was a poorly hidden secret and Evan knew exactly how to play to his desires. Normally, the temptation would be resistible, but the magic he had felt minutes ago was startling pure and alluring. It was almost impossible to turn away from.

"Perhaps we should retire to a different room to… discuss some details of your return and the child."

Evan allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch in amusement. "Yes, you and I will have much to speak about." He turned to Harry with commanding eyes. "Return to your rooms. I will deal with you later."

Harry was smart enough to recognize a ploy being played. He bowed his head and said obediently, "yes, sir."

But before he could take a step, Lucius spoke up almost casually. "There's no need for you to leave, child. I have a son the same age as you. Perhaps you and he could meet and discuss the finer points of what boys your age appreciate."

"How gracious of you, Lucius," Evan purred in a simpering voice. "However, the boy has no need for such trivialities." His voice turned demanding. "I will not repeat myself. Return to your rooms, now."

Harry bowed his head again, pushing away the disappointment of meeting another wizard boy his age and let himself out of the door. Before he turned the corner, he glanced behind him and met the eyes of Lucius Malfoy. A shiver ran through his body at the man's intense gaze and he forced himself to tear his eyes away.

There was something about the man… Something different than that of Evan. Both men were cold and withdrawn, but Lucius's magic was intriguing. When he had interrupted the man from cursing the poor house elf, the blond's magic had reached out to his almost instinctively, murmuring soft words as if to seduce his magic.

Mulling over the enigma of Lucius Malfoy, Harry returned into his rooms and shut the door quietly. Jumping back onto his bed, he poured himself yet another glass of pumpkin juice and downed it.

While Lucius had taken his mind off of his James and Lily, the thought of the blond man had his blood racing and his magic sparking inside of him.

Groaning, Harry buried himself under the blankets and forced himself to lie still. Breathing in and out deeply, Harry settled down for his nightly routine of meditation.

* * *

Evan silently led Lucius down the hallways and into the tea room. As he passed his office, he paused, forcing the blond behind him to stop with an annoyed cough.

The wards surrounding the door had been disrupted and his protective measures, including his the snake that served as a handle, had been alerted.

What a _naughty_ boy Harry had been. But it was only the matter of time before teenage curiosity kicked in and forced him to do something stupid. He would, of course, be scolding Harry about it later.

But first, Lucius was to be dealt with.

Brushing his hand on the wood of his door in reassurance, Evan resumed his leisurely walk to the tea room.

When they arrived, a house elf appeared and placed a tray of tea and biscuits on the coffee table and popped away. Seating himself in a tall, regal couch, he crossed his legs elegantly and waited for Lucius to make himself comfortable in the chair opposite of him.

"Tea?" he asked pleasantly. "Sugar or milk with it?"

Evan hated pleasantries, but the only way to deal with posh purebloods like the Malfoys was to play the perfect host.

"Please," Lucius nodded. "One cube of sugar, no milk."

Nodding, Evan put together the tea and pushed it in front of Malfoy. He snapped his fingers and a glass of Ogden's Firewhiskey appeared on top of a coaster. Sipping the drink, he tilted his head and regarded Lucius with a careful look.

"Do you know why I called you here?"

Lucius looked mildly affronted. "To see this child of yours and perhaps to boast. I would show the boy off to the world if he were mine."

"He is mine," Evan said softly, a dangerous tone underlying his words.

Lucius felt himself pause in surprise. "You have never taken interest in children before," he said carefully.

"The boy is mine to train, but he will be a servant of the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord?" Lucius repeated faintly. "The Potter boy killed him!"

Evan gave a vicious grin. "Do you really think that Tom Riddle would risk his life so without some sort of backup plan?"

"You dare speak his real name?" Lucius snapped in anger, clenching the handle of his wand tightly. "You dare ridicule him so?"

"Oh relax, Lucius," Evan said with a dry laugh. He took another sip of the firewhiskey before continuing. "The Dark Lord is not dead. In fact, I have information that he is already on the move, looking for a way to restore his body."

Lucius paled. "Restore his body? His spirit is still alive then."

"Yes," Evan said plaintively.

"Then we must prepare," Lucius stated strongly. "When the Dark Lord returns, we will have maintained his seat of power, creating for him the empire he once had before the Potters."

Evan leaned forward in his chair excitedly. His eyes gleamed unnaturally and Evan bared his teeth in a raw smile. "We all have our duties. Yours is to the Ministry. Mine is to the boy."

Lucius's gaze sharpened upon the mention of the boy. "What is he?" he asked softly. "A child that powerful cannot be human like the rest of us."

Evan weighed the question in his head. "He is different, you are right. But he is not… fully fledged. You will know once he and I return."

"Fully fledged?" Lucius asked rapidly. "And are you planning a trip of sorts?"

Evan gave a tittering laugh. "He has barely began his training. Can you imagine what kind of power he will wield when he reaches of age? Can you imagine what strength and power he will move with and grace the Dark Lord with?" Breathing out softly so that his cold breath gently touched the blond, Evan spoke quietly. "I will be taking the boy away with me to one of the Rosier safe houses. We need a place to train in peace and quiet. But we will be far from Wizarding Society. I need you to give this to the Dark Lord when he rises." He reached into his robe and pulled out a large envelope sealed by a red wax stamp with the Rosier crest imprinted on it.

Lucius accepted the envelope and placed it within his own robe pocket. His head was swimming with questions, but he knew it would do him no good to ask.

"The Dark Lord will not be… pleased about this," Lucius cautioned.

"I know," Evan said softly as he reached forward again for his glass of firewhiskey. His right hand reached out, but before it could make contact with the cool glass, it began to shake, a tremor shaking from the tips of his fingers down to his elbow.

Evan hissed and drew his arm back, glaring poisonously at the offending limb. He opened and closed his fist slowly, only to see his hand shake uncontrollably in the process.

Snarling, he backhanded the glass with the trembling hand, watching with little satisfaction as it flew from the table and smashed into the wall.

Lucius felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. He said nothing, however, and waited eagerly for the man in front of him to regain his composure.

Evan dug his nails into his palm and forced himself to calm. It would do him or Harry no good for Lucius to see anymore weakness than he already had.

"A… parting gift from the aurors," he said stiffly, standing up from his chair. He held his right hand behind his back.

"You are sure it will not hold you back from serving the Dark Lord?" Lucius asked coolly. "To the best of your abilities?"

Evan nearly snapped at the insult. "I think it is best if you leave," he managed to say with only a hint of anger. "You have what you must give to the Dark Lord. Do not forget, or you will face not only my wrath, but that of my child."

The mention of the powerful boy brought Lucius to a stand as well. "Do not fear, Rosier," he said lowly. "I have no intention of forgetting _anything_ I witnessed today."

But before Evan could retort, a high, bloodcurdling scream rang out in the manor. He felt a pulse of magic ring through his body, most likely an alarm sent by the bracelet he had given Harry.

Ignoring the startled blond, he swiftly walked from the room, whipping the doors open and quickly striding toward Harry's wing. He could barely hear Lucius following and asking redundant questions over Harry's shrill screams. The screams stirred little emotion within him, but he could feel himself drowning in the powers of a grounder, flooded by adrenaline to protect and serve the child.

Gritting his teeth, Evan found himself walking faster.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how long he had been lying in bed attempting to meditate. He had changed his position at least ten times, moving from sitting, to lying face down, to standing. While it was normally challenging to properly clear his thoughts like Evan could, it was even more difficult after meeting the elusive Lucius Malfoy.

After the first five minutes of failed meditation, he had a house elf bring him a book on pureblood lines. Lucius Malfoy, as Evan had named, was infamous; a powerful, politically dangerous man who prided himself on his wealth and bloodline.

Harry couldn't help but worry again of what the Malfoy scion thought of him. He had barged in like an uncouth teenager wearing a simple robe over a _nightgown_ and lacking any thought of manners, nevertheless pureblood greetings.

Groaning, Harry shifted so that he was hanging half off of his bed. He was sure his godfather would have an aneurism seeing him so ridiculous but at the moment, he could care less. Rubbing his hand over his face, Harry forced himself to push all thoughts of the blond and Evan out of his mind. The blood rushing to his face seemed to help a bit, and for the first time, everything in him went quiet.

Harry lay upside down, relishing the lack of noise. But soon, the silence became unnerving and Harry was beginning to feel uneasy. He cracked one eye open and felt his heart stop.

Everything around him was blindingly white. He could see the faint outline of his room, but it was so faded that the room might as well be empty.

Harry glanced to his side and gasped at the empty space where the bed he was lying on seconds ago. Flailing wildly, he flipped head first off onto the ground, smashing his nose against the ground.

Groaning, Harry lifted himself with his arms and looked around carefully. Was this what true meditation looked like?

If it was, it was rather frightening and he really didn't like being surrounded by so much white and… emptiness.

Standing, Harry gave an experimental twitch of his fingers and sighed in relief when the familiar pattern of magic webs popped up. But rather than the usual magic he saw, something was different. The webs were thicker and more widely woven, magic vibrating off of the strings in visible pulses. Each string was colored a snowy gray, almost blending in with the white background of the room. And for the first time, the webs were silent.

Reaching up to stroke one of the webs, Harry felt the familiar touch of magic spark at his fingertips. He moved to pull away and blinked as the web stuck fast to his skin, moving backward with his body.

He rotated his hand around slowly, watching with wide eyes as the web began to mold itself around his finger, then down to his palm. As the magic spread, Harry could feel himself begin to shake in panic. Giving a yell, he shook his hand violently, hoping it the web would be wrenched off. However, instead of flinging the magic off, more stuck onto his hand, and Harry watched in horror as the magic began to spread down his arm, torso, and legs.

Backing up, trying to distance himself from the invasive magic, Harry let out one last scream before the magic crawled up his neck and over his mouth and eyes. His shriek was cut off abruptly and his vision blackened out.

Despite being blinded and muted, Harry could feel his body fall down with a painful jar and thrash violently. Pain flashed through him and another scream bubbled up in his throat.

Suddenly, he felt a hand carding through his hair and he froze.

**Shh…. Safe…. My son… **

Harry struggled to respond or to wrench himself out of the stranger's grip but found his body held hostage.

The voice didn't come again, but phantom fingers continued stroking his hair, and Harry found himself relaxing. When he was all but putty in the stranger's hands, they disappeared and Harry felt his eyes snap open.

Except what he saw wasn't his room or the white, empty space he found himself in. It was some kind of dark room. The walls and floor were made of cobbled stone, and a single doorway was shadowed by what looked like flickering flames. In the middle of the room stood an enormous mirror, a shadow looming from its side. On the golden border was etched, _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohshi._

Harry felt confusion stir inside of him. Was this kind of obscure language wizards used? Evan was training him in Latin, a language dead to the Muggle world for centuries. He cocked his head and found himself walking forward toward the mirror. Reaching up with a trembling finger, Harry touched the inscription and whispered the words to himself.

"_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohshi,"_ he muttered. Unable to decipher the words, Harry looked forward into the mirror, expecting to see a familiar face. But instead of seeing messy black hair and startling green eyes, he saw an empty room behind him, as if he wasn't even standing in front of the mirror.

Stumbling back in shock, Harry felt himself trip over a protruding stone and fell down. He stared in horror at the lack of reflection and began to hyperventilate.

_This isn't happening_, he whispered desperately, rocking back and forth. _This can't be happening. This isn't real. I'm not here. I'm in my room having a nightmare. I must be._

He heard a voice in the distance and he snapped his head toward the entrance into the room. Eyess widening in horror as the shadow of a man appeared by the doorway, he crawled backwards until his back hit the wall. The room was naked except for the cursed mirror and Harry had nowhere to hide.

Sitting in plain view, Harry curled himself into a ball and closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the inevitable.

The sound of heels clicking against the ground grew louder as the man entered the room. When the sound stopped, he heard a rasped whisper.

"_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohshi._ I show not your face but your heart's desire," the man spoke quietly, his high voice echoing softly in the room.

Harry opened his eyes in surprise. A cloaked man with a tall turban stood in front of the mirror, staring at the inscription rather than Harry.

Not willing to push his luck, but also deadly curious, Harry slowly got to his hands and knees, and shuffled a couple steps toward the man.

The man spoke again in a reedy voice. "M-my Lord!" he cried out. "We've found it! Right under Dumbledore's nose!"

Harry wondered who the man was speaking to before another voice entered the room. It hissed, almost snake like with a dangerous tone to it.

"_What do you see, fool? Tell me what you see!"_

"Yes Master," the man replied reverently. "I see… my reflection."

Harry choked. The man could see his reflection?

"_Don't be stupid, of course you see your reflection! Get me my stone!"_

"Yes, yes, of course Master," the man pleaded. He raised his wand and pointed it at the mirror. "_Reducto_!" he shouted.

Harry wasn't able to stifle his scream as a large crack sounded through the room and shards of class shot to the floor. He covered his mouth and stared up at the man in shock.

Yet the man acted as if he hadn't heard Harry scream. He instead was inspecting a large crack that ran from the top of the mirror to the middle, his wand waving in a series of complicated motions.

Harry's head was swimming in confusion. How could the man not see him?

Getting on his feet, Harry slowly walked forward, accidently treading on a foot full of crushed class. Wincing, Harry readied himself to hear the sound of glass breaking, but to his surprise, the glass wasn't crushed.

Something was seriously wrong.

"Master, I see no reason why this mirror is here. It shows nothing but my reflection—our reflection—I can find no secrets hidden within it."

"_You are an incompetent excuse of a wizard!" _The hissing voice snapped. "_This is the Mirror of Erised. And that old food hid it here for a reason! Show the mirror to me."_

"Master?" the man asked in shock

"_Do as you are told!"_

The man bent his head in concession. "Of course, my dark king," he muttered and began to unwind his turban.

Harry watched in confusion, only a couple of feet away from the man. Why would he be taking off his turban? And where was the second voice coming from?

His questions were answered when the heavy purple turban fell to the ground and he felt bile claw up his throat.

There was another face attached to the man. It was wrinkled and slightly deformed to fit on the back of the man's head.

Harry retched as the smell of rotting corpses reached his nose. The man, again, didn't notice.

"Very well, Master," he said, turning around so that the attached face could see the mirror.

Harry moved closer as well despite his turning stomach. He stood facing the man, looking right at the mirror. He could see the face attached to the back of the man's face in the mirror but he still couldn't see his own reflection.

The thin, lipless mouth moved. "_Dumbledore is clever. But not even he can stop me!"_

A violent hiss was spat out and eyes that glowed an eerie red flashed. The man who was seemingly possessed began to shriek loudly, his body seizing violently in the air. The thing attached on the back of head seemed to care less and began to chant louder and louder.

Harry had never been so frightened. His Uncle was nothing compared to this. Despite his instincts screaming at him to run, Harry found himself frozen to the floor. The sibilant hisses reached passed him, almost caressing his skin. They sounded like some kind of foreign language… almost akin to ancient Greek and Latin.

When the man was on his knees, straining to keep the back of his head facing the mirror, the chanting grew to the point of shouting until finally, a crack sounded through the air and a final, horrific scream sounded in the air before it was cut off by what sounded like the crack of teeth on something hard.

As the room fell silent, Harry noticed that he was screaming along with the man. Forcing himself to stop, Harry rubbed a hand against his raw throat. He stood above the fallen man, unable to do anything but watch.

The face on the back of the head spoke again in a weaker tone. "_Turn us around, Quirrell._"

The man—Quirrell—moaned weakly but managed to sit up.

Harry gasped in shock. In the man's bloodied mouth was a red stone. His lips were stretched widely to accommodate the stone and a piece of broken tooth clattered to the ground. The man's shoulder shook in suppressed sob and the face all but sneered.

"_Swallow it_."

Quirrell's eyes widened and he glanced around in shock.

The face spoke again, this time in a poisonous whisper. "_Swallow it, Quirrell. Serve your Master and swallow the stone!_"

The man shook his head. Blood continued to drip from the corners of his mouth and his body continued to tremble in trama.

The face gave a snarl of fury and there was a shift of magic. Suddenly, the stone began to press further into the mouth. The man began to struggle and choke in terror.

Harry felt himself draw away in horror and disgust. The touch of magic brought him to his senses and Harry dug his fingers into his palm. He waited for the webs to appear, and when they didn't, he began to panic.

Scratching his palms with his fingernails, he felt wetness appear and drip down. Blood. He had broken skin.

Falling to his knees, Harry sobbed aloud and watched as the stone was forced further and further into the man's mouth, causing teeth to crack and bones to splinter. He could see the man's tongue ripped nearly in half.

Turning his head, he dry heaved. The smell of blood was pungent in the air and hissing laughter drifted around the room.

Finally, when the stone was jammed in the throat, creating an unnatural lump in the body, the man's eyes began to bulge and roll up to his skull.

Harry sobbed in relief as the man lost consciousness, falling face down on the floor.

But as soon as he thought it was over, the body began to disintegrate, pieces of skin flaking off, followed by chunks of flesh and organs. The face on the back of the head was left untouched as it began to laugh manically.

Finally, when all was left was the head, smoke began to appear and the edges of the head began to blacken before bursting into flame.

Harry watched in horrified surprise as something black and tattered floated into the air. It seemed…oddly familiar. Almost like déjà vu, but he couldn't place it.

The spirit floated above the mess of disintegrated flesh. In the middle was the gleaming red stone, sitting atop of what could only be the leftovers of the heart.

The spirit circled around it, and embraced it. The stone began to tremble, the once bright red color darkening to the color back before it suddenly shattered, spraying the room with sharp pieces of stone.

Harry gave a yell of pain as something sharp lodged into his leg. He glanced down in surprise to see a piece of the stone protruding from his leg, causing blood to begin pooling out.

A breeze brought Harry to snap his head back up. Despite not being able to see webs of magic, Harry could see swirls of black magic rising from the shattered stone and organs, shifting and shaping into a humanoid figure.

The magic intensified and hummed, swirling and swirling until finally, the magic gave one last push and released.

Harry felt the backlash of pure dark magic and he could feel himself recoil in horror. It was dark, tainted, and beyond the norm of magic. He stared up in shock and met a pair of poppy red eyes.

A man stood in front of him in all naked glory. His body was lean and skinny, with elegant, angular features that pointed toward a pureblood ancestry. High cheekbones stuck out of the man's face, where a thin nose pointed out and thin red libs curled into a smile.

The man gave a scream of triumph before disappearing in a dark swirl.

And the room began closing in on Harry, and he began to shriek as the mirror disappeared, and the cobbled floor and walls moved closer and closer and he curled in on himself, making him smaller, smaller, smaller, closing his eyes when the cold stone touched his skin and—

He lunged upward and met the wild eyes of Evan Rosier and Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

Hope you all enjoyed that chapter! A bit gruesome but I found it necessary and morbidly fascinating to write.

All in all, I've had a god awful day too full of disappointment and I was hoping that posting this chapter would help cheer me up. Reviews are also great points of comfort, if you know what I mean.

**sleepingAngeL**: I think you will have to wait and see what happens between the Mother and Evan (; I'm glad to see you're looking forward to all of that and I promise you that you will not be disappointed! Things will start clearing up soon. Thank you so much for the review!

**Insanely-Yours96**: Yes, Harry will definitely become independent with his own beliefs as he grows older. I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but Harry will not become some mindless, torturing slave to the Dark side. The compulsion has its pull but as Harry grows stronger, things will change.

**jebbus132**: Interesting, I thought I came up with this idea myself ack do you know which story this was? PM it to me! Thank you for pointing that out though.

I would also like to point out that this is a _nonbashing _story (I don't bash). Aka Dumbledore will NOT be a bad guy in this story because while he may be depicted as a slightly manipulative figure in the books, I still believe he had good intentions at heart. Of course, he will not be a good Samaritan but he will also not be the villain.

Thanks for reading and please leave some comments! Brightens my day every time!


	5. Fate Howls

So I originally wasn't going to post this until next week because of finals but I decided why not? I've been sick for the past four days and life's been nothing short of miserable so this might cheer me up a bit.

Again, thanks to **Roheryn's Knight **for catching all my mistakes and helping make this story better!

This is a really long chapter, so I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter 4: Fate Howls_

_Thursday—November 1, 1990_

When Evan and Lucius reached the doors to Harry's room, the screams inside had degenerated to the point of hysterical sobbing and pleas. Evan wrenched the door open and found Harry lying on the ground by the bed, thrashing and writhing as if some invisible assailant was torturing his soul.

He was momentarily stunned. None of the books had mentioned anything like this. He was sure that it had to do with Harry being a crafter; his eyes had rolled up so that only white were showing and crafter magic was thrumming heavily in the room.

"Dear Merlin," Lucius breathed next to him, wand gripped tightly in his hand. "What is going on here?"

Evan had little more idea than the blond but he had no intention of telling him that. "Help me put him back on the bed," he snapped.

The two men approached the shrieking child. Amongst the flailing limbs, both were able to pull Harry onto the bed, where he continued to thrash, pulling sheets with him and nearly slapping Lucius in the process.

Evan leaned forward and placed his palms on Harry's face. He began to pull at the magic connecting the two but found something blocking the passage. Confused, he poked at the wall and it held fast.

His magic circled the wall, looking for a place to penetrate and weave in. However, it was faultless, and when he tried attacking it, his magic was thrust violently out of the connection.

Gasping, Evan stumbled back. He stabled himself with a hand and glanced down at Harry. He had fallen deathly silent. The only sign of life was the occasional tremor going down his body.

Letting out a silent breath of relief, Evan met the eyes of Lucius who looked equally relieved.

Lucius stared at the boy with wide eyes. He knew he looked like a mess, his hair messed up and his face flushed with extortion, but he didn't care.

He had seen the boy wield extraordinary magic. A boy of his son's age, yet so much more powerful. And now he had seen the boy in pain, thrashing about in throes of invisible pain and agony.

He should be worried. He should be using the boy's pain for his own gain.

But for some reason, Lucius was only more entranced than before.

Evan narrowed his eyes at Lucius as the man began to watch Harry in what seemed like a new light. He knew what the blond was thinking.

"You should leave," Evan stated calmly. "I have things under control."

Lucius snorted in a decidedly undignified manner. "Don't think me stupid, Rosier. You have as much idea of what this boy is going through as I do. I can see it in your eyes."

Evan struggled to suppress the internal storm that gathered deep inside of him. His lips drew back in a snarl. "You have intruded enough, Malfoy. This is my home, my child—you have no place here. I will not ask you to leave again." The threat was not veiled in his words.

Before Lucius could utter a sneering retort, Harry's back suddenly arched off of the bed and a high pitched scream of utter agony screeched through the room.

Evan grunted as he restrained one of Harry's flailing arms, using his other arm to reach for his wand and cast an _incarcerous_, only to watch in surprise as the ropes slid right off of the boy's wrists.

He had forgotten. Simple wizarding magic would do no good to restrain a crafter intertwined deeply in the Mother's magic.

Curling his lip, Evan found he had no choice but to ask for Lucius's help. "Hold down his legs so he will not hurt himself any further," he ordered. Without pausing to make sure that the blond would listen, Evan reached over with his other hand to restrain Harry's other wrist, struggling to pry the crafter's fingers from scraping flesh off of the boy's own palms.

"Damnit, Rosier," Lucius snarled as he watched the child continue to thrash and scream and shriek. "What in Merlin's name is happening?" He let go of one of Harry's legs and moved to pull out his own wand so he could stun the boy himself.

Evan felt the anger that was bubbling up burst through the poorly made dam and he barked out, "Put down your damn wand, Malfoy! Do it or I will kill you right here right now, fuck the consequences. So help me, Malfoy, give me one little reason and I will do it right now."

Lucius felt himself freeze momentarily in shock. This Evan… was nothing like the Evan Rosier he used to be. The man was always composed; always cold and distant.

Imprisonment must have been worse than he thought.

Gritting his teeth, Lucius shoved his wand back into the walking cane and grabbed Harry's leg again. He would do it for the boy. The beautiful, powerful, alluring boy who would grow up to be such a gem—he would do it for him.

There would be no future gain for his family if he died anyways.

The boy continued to thrash and choke on his own spit for an hour until finally, nearly an hour after midnight, his shrieks subdued and his body stilled.

Lucius let go and leaned back in the bed, closing his eyes as his stiff body stretched out. "You owe me an explanation for this, Rosier."

Evan copied Lucius's movements, but not before sending a chilling look at the blond. "I owe you nothing," he said stiffly.

The two stood up at the bottom of Harry's bed and watched as the magic twirling around his body absorbed back into his core. And as suddenly as the crafter had fallen silent, his eyes snapped open and the boy sat up quickly, his eyes wild and pupils dilated.

Evan reached forward and grabbed his charge's left wrist. Pressing his nails into the skin of the pulse point, he forced his magic into the boy, past the now invisible barrier, and calming the hysterical child.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Harry whispered, his body shivering. He felt bile claw up his throat and he lunged sideways, puking up the contents of his stomach onto the ground. A cool hand pressed against his forehead and pushed him back down. He could feel tremors wrack through his body and his teeth chattered, despite the warm temperature in the room.

"Look at me, boy."

The commanding voice pierced straight through Harry's frantic face and he forced himself to pry his eyelids open. He stared into the calm, piercing eyes of his grounder and sank into their violet depths.

Evan reached out and caressed his charge's face. He watched with giddy satisfaction as the boy relaxed into the palm of his hand, pressing into him for more contact. Reaching with his magic, he wrapped a tendril around the connection the crafter and grounder shared and pressed delicately. The boy relaxed even further into the bed.

Finally, when he had subdued the hysterics, Evan turned with a scowling face toward Lucius. The blond, at least, had looked away, aware of their intimate exchange and offering what privacy he could.

"Go away, Malfoy," he whispered. "Go away now or you won't like what happens next. This is my last warning to you."

The blond stood up and bowed, albeit with a hint of mockery. "Until next time," he murmured, shooting one last intriguing glance at the boy before leaving the room.

Giving a small sigh of relief, Evan turned back to the boy and ran a hand over his raven hair. "Harry. Tell me what happened."

The boy mumbled incoherently and turned away, muffling his face into the pillow.

Evan narrowed his eyes. He dug his nails slightly into Harry's scalp so that the boy was forced to sit up with a cry of protest. "What was that?" he demanded lowly.

Harry swallowed his nervousness. "It was… I don't know. I was trying to meditate and the next thing I know, I'm in this room. Some kind of dungeon, I think, and there's this mirror. The man called it the Mirror of Erised."

Evan reared his head sharply at the name. "What?" he hissed lowly. "Who is this man you speak of?"

Harry could feel himself shaking again. "The man… Oh god, he's dead! The thing killed it! There was something _on _him, and it killed him. It killed the man, oh Merlin, it was so bloody, and horrible, and the magic was so, so wrong-" His hysterics cut off as he bent over, dry heaving on the bed in disgust. A dribble of bile fell onto the sheets, but he could hardly bring himself to care. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and continued, the words flooding uncontrollably out of his mouth. "I couldn't stop it, Evan. I swear, I would have if I could. It was so strange… It was like I wasn't there at all. And the man just kept dying and shouting, and the thing kept on laughing, and the magic—oh god, the magic felt so wrong and _I couldn't see it_."

Evan mulled over the information in his head. "Could you touch anything?"

The crafter whipped his head around and stared at the man incredulously. "No," he said slowly. "How could you possibly know that?"

"You were in a vision," Evan stated briskly, ignoring the question. "You know what these are; I've had you read about them. Sometimes, you will be sent visions—important parts of the past or future—that will in some way shape the future of magic. That's why you were born, to fix the inbalance of magic. Now tell me more about what you saw. What was the man's name? What 'thing' do you speak of?"

If getting visions as horrific as the one he just got were in his job description, Harry would have happily lived as a Muggle rather than a crafter. "The man… His name started with the letter Q. Quirrel, I think! And there was something growing on the back of his head. The man—Quirrel—he was wearing a turban of sorts, and when he took it off, there was this mutated head right there." His stomach rolled and he forced down the nausea. "The face was some kind of spirit, I think. I could feel the foreign magic from where I was. It began to do some kind of magic and this red stone appeared, and it forced Quirrell to… to swallow the stone."

Quirrell… Quirinus Quirrell, a half-blood graduate of Hogwarts who ventured on some kind of ridiculous journey after resigning his job as a Muggles Studies Professor. Evan wasn't sure which was worse—consorting with muggles and mudbloods or chasing after fantasized creatures.

Harry suddenly remembered what Quirrell called the thing that was attached to his head and he froze. "Evan," he said quietly.

Evan turned his gaze onto the boy and felt his mouth turn into a small sneer. "Yes?"

"I remember. Quirrell called the thing on the back of his head 'my lord' and 'my dark king'. He doesn't mean the Dark Lord, does he?"

And Evan felt his heart stop for a second before adrenaline rushed through his body and a sick, twisted grin spread across his face.

The Dark Lord was returning.

* * *

_Thursday—November 1, 1990_

It was weeks since Harry had received his first vision. Traumatic as it was, the vision served more than just to inform the eventual return of the Dark Lord.

It marked Harry's full awakening as a crafter.

Magic was now even more sensitive to him, and Harry could feel the webs caressing him, whispering soft secrets and pulling him in to Merlin knows where. He hadn't had another vision, but he was avoiding meditation like the plague.

However sensitivity to magic wasn't the only thing that was changing.

Days ago, while Harry was taking a relaxing shower, he had reached behind to scratch an itch in his back. Pulling his hand away, Harry looked down to see the water bleeding red into the drain.

It was blood.

Panicking, Harry had patted his body down searching for the wound, only to find in the mirror deep gouges in his back. Looking down at his innocent looking fingers, he peered closer to see them longer than usual and growing a hard, sharpened tip.

He had gone to Evan with his talon-like fingers, who dismissed the changes as genetic characteristics of a crafter. Without so much a word of care to his charge, the man had left Harry bleeding in the dining room, retreating to his personal office in a darkened mood.

Harry sighed as he leaned back against the headboard of his bed. He drummed his elongated nails on his knee as he flipped through the few pages of an ancient tome dedicated to legends of a crafter.

As it appeared, long nails something all fully fledged crafters developed during their growth. The extended nails would facilitate the manipulation of magic and the weaving of spells, while preventing the large, blunt heads of fingertips from interfering in the delicate work of a crafter. The sharpened tips also increased sensitivity and affinity to the magic around him.

And so as his nails grew longer, darkening at the sharpened tips, Harry was forced to accommodate his life around it. When he attempted to clip the tips so that the length was more manageable, he only accomplished snapping the metal nail clipper in half. Frustrated, he had even looked into cosmetic books, much to his embarrassment and Evan's mocking disapproval, and no spell or charm could reduce his nearly one-inch long nail.

While it was disgusting, it was also useful at the same time. It took him half the regular time to create spells from magic and he was able to touch the webs without causing an enormous flood or fire to burst out. Opening letters also became a much easier task.

But he wasn't the only one changing. Evan, his godfather, was going through bouts of what Harry called his "dark ages."

_Flashback_

_Harry sat on the opposite end of the dining table. He lifted his fork and knife delicately and cut into the slab of meat placed in front of him. Chewing on the gravy lathered beef, he sat back with a satisfactory sigh and relished in the comfortable silence he and Evan ate together._

_He had discovered his godfather to be a man of few words. The man would sit with a blank look on his face while his eyes were constantly watching, taking note of his surroundings. He rarely spoke to Harry outside of their training, preferring to retreat into his personal study and only coming out for meals. Harry hadn't discovered where Evan slept during the night—that is, if he slept at all._

_Licking his lips, Harry forked a piece of steamed broccoli and brought the garlic scented vegetable to his mouth. Crunching around the head, Harry heard a clang of dishware and looked up._

_Evan had a murderous expression on his face, his left hand clamped over the right. On the floor was his knife, a slice of meat still protruding from the top._

_Harry could barely keep his gasp of surprise inside of him. Evan, the pureblood extraordinaire and most controlled man he had ever met, had dropped his fork. Loudly. In the middle of dinner, of all places._

_Before he could open his mouth and speak, Evan shot a poisonous look at the youth._

"_Have something to say, boy?" he snarled._

_Harry winced at the name, boy, an image of his Uncle Vernon flashing through his mind. Shaking his head, he remembered that Evan called him 'boy' only when he was angry._

"_No," he muttered, looking away._

_But that did little to placate the man. Giving a roar of anger, Evan hefted his half full dinner plate and threw it against the wall, watching with wild fury as the plate smashed. Growling, he stood up so abruptly that his chair toppled backward and planted his hands under the table. Giving a scream of rage, he lifted with hall his might and flipped the solid wooden table over. Harry's dinner joined the rest of the dishes as they slide down and smashed into the floor._

_With fork and knife still poised over open air, Harry felt his mouth gape the slightest bit. He could feel concern ebbing at the edge of his mind, but what was most prevalent was fear._

_Fear that his godfather would hit him. Take out his anger on Harry._

_Dropping his fork and knife on the ground with a clatter, Harry stood up from his chair, intent on retreating to his room, when a shout stopped him._

"_Don't you fucking move, boy!"_

_Harry froze. Heart pumping quickly, he turned slowly and faced Evan. The man's face was pale and drained, his normally perfect hair in a disarray. But what caught his eye the most was the small tremors in the man's right hand._

"_Are you alright?" he asked softly._

_Evan snarled unpleasantly and surged forward. Taking a handful of Harry's hair with one hand and a fistful of shirt in the other, Evan slammed the crafter against the food stained wall and pressed his face close to the boy._

"_Do you think this is funny?" he whispered, a mocking tone underlying his words. "Do you think it's funny, watching your fucking godfather lose control?"_

"_N-no, sir," Harry stammered. He kept himself frozen, afraid of provoking the man even further. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. The man's breath smelt strongly of alcohol._

_Evan sneered viciously and pressed Harry even harder against the wall. "Don't patronize me, boy. I saved you. You owe me. You. Owe. Me."_

"_Yes, yes, I owe you everything," Harry babbled. "Please let go of me, Evan. You're scaring me."_

_Rather than let go, Evan chuckled deeply at the ten-year old. "You think yourself so perfect, don't you? A perfect little crafter with all the magic in his tiny little hands. Well guess what, golden boy, you ain't perfect. You're broken goods. You're the son of traitors and imbecilic to the bone. And to think myself proud to call you mine? Ridiculous."_

_Spittle hit Harry in the cheek and he flinched back. The words stung, but Harry could do nothing but accept the abuse. _

_Evan moved his hand from Harry's hair down to the nape of his neck and squeezed. Hard. "I am your grounder. You serve me, boy. Now get out of my fucking sight!" _

_Flung aside like a rag doll, Harry landed on his hands and knees in the middle of a pile of shattered China. Crying out in pain as the ceramic dug into his skin, he barely had the time to attempt to get up when a booted foot connected with his stomach and sent him flying across the room._

_Grunting on impact, Harry stared up at his godfather, who had a maniacal glint in his eyes._

"_Poor little Harry," Evan sang softly. "Poor little helpless Harry. What will he ever do?"_

_Recoiling in horror and terror, Harry jumped to his feet, and ignoring the pain, sprinted back to his rooms, his godfather's mocking laughter following his retreat._

_Flashback end_

The dining room incident had occurred and passed almost a week ago. Evan had returned to his usual calculating self, but he made no reference to his loss of self-control. But Harry could sense the distance in him. No longer was the man his "godfather", but strictly teacher. Even as a teacher was he more withdrawn.

And Harry too had changed. The man he thought he could trust with his life—and had to trust his life with—had hit him. Physically abused him, just like his Uncle did.

Déjà vu had never been so harsh.

He hadn't mentioned the tremors in Evan's hand again. But he noticed that with every tremor did a violent outburst occur. So when Harry would notice the man's spell weaken, or hear something clatter to the floor, he would back out of the room, his eyes glued on the floor while the man raged inside of the room.

Instead, Harry spent most of his time self-studying. And with his grown sensitivity, he could see the faint outline of magic everywhere he looked. There was no need to conjure up the raw foundational webs—rather, all he needed was to use his own magic to bend the free magic around him to his will and intent. Also, with his newly grown nails, he didn't need much of Evan's guidance to weave together magic. Whispering soft words to the webs and weaving it with his nails would create a powerful, complex spell. He rarely used his powers to see the webs of magic now. Magic was made simple for him.

Until Evan decided that Harry would have to learn wand magic.

Harry gritted his teeth as he slammed the tome on his lap, sneezing at the cloud of dust that puffed out from the pages. Fanning the dust away, he slid the book onto his desk and lay back on his bed with a huff.

Wand magic. He couldn't even wrap his mind around how he would be able to force magic through a solid piece of _wood_ and cast a spell. He was so used to the webs and being able to see the magic he could cast that using a wand would only hinder him.

Where was he supposed to get a wand anyways? Evan was a fugitive of the British Wizarding world, where the traitorous Light side had infiltrated. And Harry had no means of getting access to a wand by himself.

It was late at night, and Harry was about to spell out the candles in his room and burrow himself in his blankets and worries when a knock sounded on his door.

Harry frowned but sat up. "Come in," he called warily.

Evan slid smoothly through the wooden door and stood in front of Harry's bed. He regarded Harry with cool, violet eyes before speaking. "We are leaving Britain."

The words hit Harry like a raging hippogriff. "Leaving Britain?" he echoed emptily.

"Yes," Evan snapped. "We leave in the morning. Pack only essentials—we will be traveling lightly."

Before the man could walk back out of the door, Harry called out desperately. "Did the Aurors find us?"

The man's head snapped back to stare at the boy. "They can never find this manor," he hissed. "It is unplottable—haven't I taught you anything?"

Harry ignored the jab and continued. "Then why are we leaving Britain? This is our home And the Dark Lord is returning, we've established that weeks ago. Shouldn't we wait here?"

"The Dark Lord will have no use for a half-trained crafter. You will be useless to him in your current state."

"So are we leaving to… train?"

Evan looked contemplative. "You could say that."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Then why would we be leaving the manor?"

A look of annoyance flashed across Evan's face. "That's none of your information."

But Harry knew. He wasn't as dumb as the man thought. He had seen letters delivered by sharp-taloned eagle owls. He had seen the looks of rage and the clench of fists as Evan read the letters. And he hadn't forgotten Lucius Malfoy's appearance in the manor.

Evan was running.

"You can't just leave when people start finding you!" Harry snapped, anger flying unrestrained. "Running solves nothing! There's a difference between preferring solitude and seeking isolation!"

Evan's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't talk to me in that tone, Harry."

Harry gritted his teeth and forced his clenched fists to loosen, feeling a trickle of warm blood slide over his palm. "_Sir._ We can't just leave Britain. I've still got wand magic to learn, and Britain has the strongest Wizarding community in the world."

Harry felt his head snap to the right as Evan's backhand caught him on his left cheek. Not moving, Harry stared at the wall and swallowed the blood from his mouth.

"You will not speak to me like that," Evan said quietly. "I am not your friend, nor am I your father. I am your teacher, and you will respect me."

_And what about godfather?_ Harry thought bitterly. _If family means so much to Purebloods, why does he act like he hates me?_

"I will not repeat myself again, Harry. We leave in the morning." Evan moved to close the door behind him but paused. Perhaps he was being too harsh on the boy. "I will take care of the wand. You pack."

Harry stared at the closed door in contempt. He was naïve to believe that he could find a family here. Even his blood relatives treated him horribly.

Bowing his head in restrained anger and defeat, Harry stood up on trembling legs and moved to summon a trunk for his belongings.

* * *

_Friday—November 2, 1990_

The next morning, Harry stood by the drawing room, trunk by his side. He had forced himself out of bed early in the morning so he could finish packing and be ready to leave before Evan was. Then, he wouldn't be reprehended for being "late".

Unfortunately, Harry had been waiting in the same room for over two hours. He was too scared to send a house elf looking for Evan, afraid of interrupting the man and provoking an outburst. His stomach growled uncomfortably and Harry glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time.

Finally, Harry heard the sound of heeled dragonhide boots on the marble floor. Evan strode into the room as if perfectly on time, a line of three trunks floating behind him obediently. A quick twitch of his wand sent the trunks lining up neatly by the wall.

Harry greeted the man with what he hoped was a sincere smile. "Are we leaving now?"

Evan glanced at the ten-year old in speculation. The boy was surprisingly mature for his age, and hopefully he would act appropriately. Pulling out a flask from his robe pocket, he held it up toward the light so that the brown, muddy-like substance could be seen better. "Do you know what this is?"

Harry squinted at the flask. He mentally flipped through the book of potions he had been studying for the past few months. "Is that.. polyjucie potion?"

"Correct," Evan said softly. "Polyjuice potion, used to take the appearance of another person for an hour." He turned the flask around slowly before turning to face Harry. "Before we leave Britain, we will be making a side trip to the Ministry."

"The Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked in a shocked voice.

Evan nodded. "Yes, When I was imprisoned, they confiscated some of my belongings. We can also obtain a wand for you inside of the Ministry." He held the flask out to Harry. "You won't be able to go as yourself though. Drink."

Harry accepted the potion and stared at it dubiously. "Have you put in hair already?"

"Yes," Evan snapped. "Now drink it. We don't have much time."

Popping open the flask, Harry tilted the potion back and swallowed it in one gulp. The potion felt slimly sliding down his throat and he would have gagged it back up if not for Evan's swallowing charm. Choking on the disgusting flavor, Harry gasped as his body began to tremble and shoot up. He doubled up as a burning sensation burst from his body, and he could feel his shoulders stretch and his face narrow – his robes were stretched as his legs thickened and his arms stretched out to his long fingered hands.

When the burning ended, Harry stood up, gasping. He wobbled, unsteady with his new gait and stared at Evan. He had grown nearly a six inches taller, yet he was still shorter than the grounder.

Evan appraised the polyjuiced boy with careful eyes. "You don't fit the looks of a blond," he said casually.

Harry scowled at the man as he downed his own flask. His anger flittered away as he saw for the first time what a person undergoing polyjuice potion looked like. The skin bubbled and stretched grotesquely, and bones cracked and snapped with sickening sounds. Harry watched with fascinated horror, unable to turn away.

Finally, when the transformation was finished, Harry was looking up at an exact replica of Lucius Malfoy. He felt his eyes widen in surprise.

Evan gave a twisted grin. "I managed to snag one of his hairs when he last visited the manor. Luckily, I was also able to summon a hair of his son, Draco."

"I'm Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked bewilderedly as he thought back to the lessons on pureblood families. He subtly twisted his fingers and a mirror was conjured in front of him. He looked at his reflection with shocked, gray eyes.

He was taller and more leanly built. His face was pointed and clearly aristocratic while his platinum blond hair fell down to his ears. Screwing up his face in clear disgust, Harry forced down a sign and twitched his fingers again, watching with disgust as his hair slicked back.

Evan gave a smirk of pride. "Well done," he congratulated softly before pulling out his wand and transfiguring both of their robes into proper dress robes that the rich Malfoy family wore. "I've trained you how to act like a proper Pureblood. Now is your test."

Harry nodded his head and squashed down his growing resentment for the man. Now was not the time.

Moving with his godfather, they entered the Floo and with a handful of powder, flashed to the entry fireplaces in the Ministry.

Harry found himself stumbling onto the black tiled floor. A steady hand rested on the small of his back and Harry looked up with a smile of gratitude. But while he met the gentle expression of Lucius Malfoy, the father of Draco Malfoy, he saw the warning eyes of his grounder and mentally reprehended himself falling for false hope.

Straightening up and plastering on an I-hate-everyone sneer on his face, he followed his "father" through the Ministry, trying not to gape at the new surroundings. Witches and wizards were tightly packed, each moving quickly to reach their new destination. Newspaper boys were shouting the daily news while Ministry officials conversed avidly with each other, skillfully dodging paper airplanes that darted around the crowd. He could see Aurors cloaked in crimson red robes standing guard at corners and quickly averted his eyes.

"Come, Draco," Evan said in a cool voice. With his conjured replica of Lucius's staff, he tapped open the elevator doors and stepped inside. They stood in the middle of the small space, two mediwizards standing side by side behind them and a tall witch in Auror uniform in the far corner. Harry forced his nervousness down and stood behind Evan, watching as the doors and gates closed.

The elevator moved with quickly and a cool voice announced, "Level 2, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Harry felt a hand push at the small of his back and he forced his leaden limbs to move forward out of the elevator. When the female Auror had disappeared around the corridor, Harry turned to Evan with a slightly frightened look.

"Law Enforcement?" he whispered. "We're on a floor full of Aurors."

"I know that, boy," Evan snapped. "Now keep your chin up and let me do the talking."

Tapping his walking staff on the ground, Evan strode down the hall with purposeful strides, his body moving fluidly almost identically to Lucius's. Harry followed the pace, his shorter legs forcing him to nearly run by the man's side.

Evan continued to walk, paying no attention to the suspicious looks from the milling Aurors. He did nothing to mask his sneer of disdain. The Wizarding World law enforcement was a joke. Following the Second War, the quality of Aurors had fallen, leaving only incompetent, weak wizards who lacked efficiency and backbone to protect the Ministry.

Ignoring the protesting secretary outside of the door, Evan burst into the Head Auror's office without as much of a knock. He arched a perfect brow at the man behind the desk and appraised the man with reluctant approval.

Rufus Scrimgeour was not the typical Ministry worker. He was a force to be reckoned with, not only with magical power but political prowess as well. His face was hardened from the war and tawny hair framed his yellowish eyes. Many thought Scrimgeour looked like an old and scarred lion, and Evan couldn't help but find himself agreeing.

"Lucius Malfoy," Scrimgeour said smoothly, not even flinching at the abrupt entrance. He stood up from his desk and walked confidently around to offer a hand to Evan. Harry noticed a slight limp in the man's step.

"Head Auror," Lucius said respectively as he shook the man's rough, calloused hand firmly. "It's been a while."

"Yes, since your trial, yes?" Scrimgeour said with a gleam in his eyes. A wicked smirk wound around his face. "I hope my Aurors haven't inconvenienced you in anyway. Unfortunately, surveillance requires it. Apologies, but we cannot revoke the order."

Evan, being the man he was, took little insult. He wasn't Lucius Malfoy and he didn't care about the man's problems. "Yes, I understand that, but I'm here on a different sort of business."

Scrimgeour's bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. "Oh?" he asked with a suspicious tone. "And what is that?"

"This," Evan said in dead tone before drawing his wand and pointing it at the Head Auror. "_Imperio!_"

The man managed to summon a book to block the spell, which exploded upon contact. Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed dangerously and a wand appeared in his hand. "Careful, Malfoy. Assulting an Auror is one thing. Using an Unforgivable is a completely different level. Anything else you do will extend your Azkaban sentence to life."

Evan let out a barking laugh. "You are a fool if you think that I would let myself be captured. Draco?"

Harry looked up and understood. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his fists and an array of foreign magic webs appeared in front of him. Reaching up, he began to weave a ward, whispering affectionately to the magic, coaxing them to move and bend to his will. In the matter of seconds, the web was finished and he released it with a flick of his fingers.

Harry could feel the magic expand outwards and encompass the office. He sent a small touch of magic toward the Head Auror, successfully immobilizing the man. The ward would put the office in a form of a notice-me-not charm while also creating a privacy and impenetrable barrier.

Scrimgeour found himself more surprised than he had ever been. The wards in the Ministry would have prohibited such casting but for some reason the boy had done the impossible. He caught a glance of long fingernails and the pieces clicked.

"Your son is a crafter," he said flatly. "We're both pureblood, Malfoy. I know one when I see it. And I can see why you're so confident now. There's no possible way for me alone to overpower your son." He cocked his head. "The question is why he's with you."

Evan ignored the question. "Well done, son," he said softly.

Harry felt himself swell in pride despite knowing that the words were only a cover.

"Can't you see, boy?" Scrimgeour spoke, directing his words to Harry. "He's manipulating you. And guessing by your stance, I can tell he's your grounder, however the hell _that_ happened."

Evan snarled wordlessly and stalked forward. "This is not any of your business. Now, I want you to tell me where I can find confiscated wands."

Scrimgeour tilted his head back and gave a roaring laughter that was soaked in mockery. "Lost something, Malfoy?"

Evan narrowed his eyes. Whipping his wand out again, he cried, "_Imperio!_"

Harry watched as the man's eyes glazed over and his hostile posture relax.

"Harry. You may release his bonds."

Harry obeyed with a quick twist of his wrists. He kept the wards in place however. But when he reached out to verify the strength of the webs, he felt the presence of wizards sending spells at the ward. So far, the spells were absorbed, but he could feel his poorly crafted web breaking.

Cursing his lack of attention and practice, he turned to Evan.

"Father," he said carefully. "The ward isn't going to hold any longer."

Evan shot the boy a disdainful glance. "And you couldn't your one job correctly."

Harry gritted his teeth. "I've never made a ward under a time limit and foreign magic. The webs are very powerful in the Ministry and it was difficult enough to get the magic to work against the Ministry itself."

Evan sighed. "Then I will clean up your mess. Don't try anything—you've done enough as it is—and follow me."

Obeying reluctantly with a bow of his head, Harry settled against the wall with a frown. Evan was quickly glamoring the Auror's eyes so that they seemed normal and when finished, tucked his wand into the sleeve of his robe to hide it. He beckoned a finger to where Harry stood last and pointed his hidden wand at Scrimgeour, whispering a command.

When Scrimgeour walked into the ward, Harry could feel the webs shatter upon contact, shriveling and absorbing back into their original state. The ward shouldn't have broken so easily… Harry sneered at himself in disappointment. The one time he had the chance to prove himself, he ruined it.

The crowd of Aurors stopped shooting spells at the door when their Head of Department appeared, intact and alive.

"Sir?" one of the Aurors asked carefully. "Are you alright?" She sent a poisonous look at Evan, who was watching nonchalantly behind Scrimgeour.

Scrimgeour grunted. "I'm fine. Haven't you lot ever heard of privacy? There's a reason I cast a ward. Mr. Malfoy and I had private information to discuss. Besides, an alarm would have gone off if I was attacked."

The same Auror stared at Scrimgeour with disbelieving eyes. "The alarm did go off," she said slowly.

Harry cursed himself and could practically feel his skin burning from Evan's furious glare.

"That happens all the time," Scrimgeour dismissed with a wave of his hand. "There's no need to go and destroy the front of my office." And it was destroyed, charred black from the barrage of spells.

The Aurors scratched their heads sheepishly but the same Auror didn't look convinced. "Lucius Malfoy barged into your room unannounced and you cast a privacy ward for the first time in five years. I'm sorry, sir, but you can see why we were so concerned."

Scrimgeour gave a wry grin. "I suppose so. Well spoken, Auror Rhodsey. Now back to work, you all. I have business with Mr. Malfoy, and you all have cases to work on."

His commanding voice sent the Aurors scattering, but not before several shot a concerned glance at their Head Auror. Scrimgeour merely stood tall, his ragged face not showing a hint of concern. When the last Auror had dispersed, Evan flicked his wand subtly and whispered, "Bring us to Evan Rosier's possessions."

Scrimgeour began to move down the hall. His injured leg gave a brief tremor before returning back to its regular limp. Harry thought it looked like the man struggling to regain control but he kept his mouth shut as commanded.

When the trio reached a thick, metal door, Scrimgeour waved his wand in a complicated pattern and pressed his palm against the door knob. Something hissed and the lock clicked open, leaving the door swinging wide open.

Harry looked around the room in wonder. It was filled with shelves nearly twenty feet tall. Each had a small, long box with a sheet of paper taped over it, the name of a convict and his/her wand core and wood scribbled on it. In the middle of the room was a large desk with cabinets bulging with unfiled papers and what seemed like confiscated items that reeked of Dark Magic.

The keeper of the room appeared by Scrimgeour's side. He was a small, mousy man with ratty brown hair and rectangular glasses that slid down to the tip of his nose. The man wore dirtied trainers and ripped robes, and looked up at the Head Auror as if he was Merlin himself.

"Sir," he said hastily with adoring eyes. "How may I help you?" His eyes slid over to Evan and Harry but he made no comment.

Scrimgeour gave a brief smile. The edge of his mouth twitched erratically before settling again, and Harry turned just in time to see Evan's expression harden the tiniest bit. "I'd like to see all of Evan Rosier's possessions, including his wand."

The keeper's mouth dropped open unattractively. "B-but sir!" he gasped. "Rosier is an escaped convict! Possessions of escaped convicts are prohibited from leaving this room!"

"And who made those rules?" Scrimgeour snapped. "I am the Head Auror and Head of this department. If you value your job and the pay that comes with it, you will go and get Evan Rosier's possessions. Now."

The man squeaked in fear and darted off. He waved his wand and a slim box flew to his hand, along with a separate chest that rattled and shook ominously.

"Thank you," Scrimgeour said as the items were handed over to him.

"Yes, thank you," Evan said smoothly before raising his wand. "_Stupefy_."

The keeper didn't even have a chance to blink before he toppled over, stunned.

Evan turned to Harry with a smirk. "Now go along and choose a wand, child. Be quick, we don't have much time left."

The last thing Harry wanted to do was get a wand. The mere thought of forcing his wild, free magic through the restraints of wood made his body shiver in disgust. But doing as told, he walked forward into the room and gripped his hands.

Webs appeared as usual and Harry followed the strings of magic, hoping to find one that would lead him to the most compatible wand there was. His instincts served him correctly, and Harry found himself climbing up a nearby ladder, blowing the dust off of one box and bringing it down. He turned the box over and squinted his eyes to read the name of the previous owner.

"Sirius Black. 13 inch Hawthorn wand with Dragon heartstring." He turned the dark brown wand over in his palm and felt a rush of magic pulse through his arm. The wand was accepting him as its new master, but the two were still not completely compatible. True ownership still lay with the so-called Sirius Black.

Climbing down the ladder, Harry held the wand out to Evan for inspection. The man did so before turning to the crafter with questioning eyes.

"Who was its previous owner?"

Harry brushed his thumb against the hilt of the wand. "Some man named Sirius Black. It's Hawthorn with a Dragon heartstring core."

Rather than the impressed look Harry was hoping for, Evan burst out in rancorous laughter, his body shaking with every guffaw. Harry scowled and waited for the man to stop laughing.

Finally, when the last tear was wiped away, Evan turned back to the crafter, a maniacal grin still on his face. "Oh, this is _perfect_," he sighed with cruel satisfaction.

"What's perfect?" Harry asked, annoyed.

Like usual, Evan waved away the question and moved toward the door, the humor sliding off of his face quickly. "Never mind that," he ordered. "We must get out of the Ministry." Taking the shaking chest from the stunned keeper, he threw open the door and waved Harry out. When the boy left, Evan looked back into the room at the still stunned Scrimgeour.

He debated killing the man. Scrimgeour would sure become a worthy opponent of his Lord and the Dark side, yet he had some kind of fondness for the old, stubborn lion. Finally, he pitied Lucius and the mess the blond would have to clean up and pointed his wand at the Head Auror.

"_Obliviate_."

Evan barely spared the time to hear the thump of the body as he hurried to where Harry was waiting. Guiding the crafter in a hurried, yet unsuspicious pace, they made it undetected outside of the manor, and with a swish of his cloak, dissaparated them away from the Ministry.

* * *

The two appeared in the middle of a snow storm. Wind roared and whirled around the two, nearly knocking Harry down in the process.

Harry stumbled against Evan, clutching on the man's robes to keep upright. The snow rose to nearly his knees and his teeth began to chatter.

"M-merlin," he said. "Where are we?"

Evan flicked his wand and cast a warming charm over both of them. "We're near one of my safe houses. Stay close to me and keep alert."

Shivering, Harry pressed himself closer to Evan's warmth. He felt something bubble inside of him and he doubled over, fighting the wave of nausea as his body reverted back to his own. His stature shrank and Harry scowled when he found the snow now over his knees.

Following the man, Harry squinted his eyes, trying to spot any piece of magic. From where they were, it was almost like a no magic zone. He squeezed the wand in his hand tightly, apprehension building inside of him.

There was a howl in the distance. Harry turned his head, eyes searching wildly for the source of the animalistic howl.

"Evan," he whispered. "I think there are wolves here."

Rather than look worried, the man merely looked amused. "Not wolves, Harry. Werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Harry nearly shouted.

"Shh, don't speak too loudly or they'll hear you," Evan whispered. "Now follow me. We should be nearing the house. It has wards that will keep out the werewolves and any other intruder—it's under a fidelous."

Harry felt himself relax a bit. His ears perked when he heard another howl. This time, much closer.

"Evan," he whispered slowly.

The man now looked marginally worried, though his face showed no sign of fear. He flung his robes back and lifted his wand high in the air, pulling Harry closer so that he was protected.

"Fenrir Greyback!" Evan yelled in the wind. "Come out you mangy beast, I know you and your pack have sought sanctuary here after the Dark Lord's defeat."

There was a low growl and a single wolf emerged. It was enormous, easily twice the size of a regular Muggle wolf. Its snout was much longer and its legs thicker and more muscular, with dense grey fur covering the entire body. Harry remembered reading about werewolves like these. They could turn from human to wolf during any part of the day, but only during the full moon did they transform into a humanoid wolf form, with sharper teeth and claws and a wild, blood thirsty spirit.

Harry felt himself stiffen in fear. While it was still the afternoon, the full moon was _today_. The second of November.

The wolf paced forward slowly, its tail raised dominantly above its back. Behind, several more pairs of amber eyes appeared in the dark. And as more growls lit the air, more and more wolves appeared, surrounding Evan and Harry in a tight circle.

Evan was still. His wand was still tightly grasped in his hand yet no panic still showed in his face. He clamped his free hand over Harry's mouth to stop the boy's gasps of terror.

Suddenly, the wolves began to part on one side and a dark gray wolf emerged. It was much larger than the rest, with battle scars that decorated the body head to tail and an aura of power and command. The wolves around the Alpha backed away, ears pulled back and bodies bending forward in respect.

When the gray wolf reached the two, it shifted forms, the air blurring to reveal a man just as burly and scarred. He had yellowed eyes and long, scraggly grey hair that fell in tangles down his back. The man gave a rouge grin and eyed Harry suggestively. "Evan Rosier. You've brought me a _treat_."

Harry gasped and pressed further back into Evan, who in response pulled Harry behind him. Evan gave a sigh of impatience.

"No, Greyback. He is not yours to keep. Go fuck one of your own bitches. Merlin knows you've got enough."

Rather than take offense, the werewolf merely leaned forward, leering at the boy half hiding behind Evan. "But this one is so _pretty_. And he's got power—yes, I can taste it. And that blood, oh how potent will that be. I can't wait to sink my teeth into that pretty neck of his."

Evan's face froze. "This boy is mine. You will not touch him, Greyback."

The man gave a barking laugh and took a step back. "Of course, Rosier. I am but yours to command." He gave a sweeping bow. At his back, the wolves chortled and howled in laughter.

Evan didn't look amused. He gave a disdainful sneer and said, "Take your wolves and hunt elsewhere. This is my domain."

Greyback leaned back on his heels and gave a sharp smirk. Pointed teeth gleamed. "And who says that?"

Evan twirled his wand. "I say so," he stated. "If you remember, it was I who granted you access to these lands to hide and create a den in. And in return, you promised to guard the lands and to keep quiet about whenever I come here."

"That doesn't seem like an equal exchange," Greyback said with a twisted grin. "Don't trick me Rosier. If we wanted to stay on your land, we would have. You cannot defend you and your boy against fifty werewolves."

Evan remained stony faced. "I have wards surrounding this—"

"Save the embarrassment, wizard," Greyback laughed. "You forget how close the full moon is. We can feel her just behind us. You and your flimsy little wards will do little to stop us."

"Then what do you ask for?" Evan drawled, not fazed. "Proper clothing? Though it would be wasted on such _uncivilized_ beasts."

Greyback gave an insulted snarl. In the blink of an eye, a burly arm shot out and grasped Harry's wrist and pulled the crafter close without loosening his grip.

Harry gave a shout of pain and tried to pull back, but the werewolf's grasp was iron tight. He could see Evan from the corner of his eye raise his wand but Greyback merely held his hand up.

To Harry's horror, the enormous man bent down, nearly in half, and ducked his head into the nape of Harry's neck. He froze as the man's whiskers brushed his skin, feeling the tickle of air as the man sniffed at his neck.

"Get off of him, Greyback," Evan snarled.

Greyback gave a low growl but lifted his head. "This boy is a crafter."

Evan barely gave a start at the proclamation. "How very astute of you. And what's it to you?"

Greyback gave a twisted laugh. "You must be his grounder. Ha! I wonder how that ever came to be." He patted his hand roughly on Harry's shoulder and his expression softened the tiniest bit. "Crafter's are precious to us, Rosier. They connect to magic and the moon as we do." A wicked gleam appeared in Greyback's eyes and he leaned down to slowly lick a path from Harry's neck up to his ear. "Delicious," he whispered.

"Then if you are so fond of him, you will return him to me unharmed," Evan snarled.

Greyback merely looked amused. "It is so tempting to take him from you wizards. None of you will ever treat him the way he should be." He turned his head to Harry and crooned, "Would you like to stay with me, child?" Teeth flashed. "We will take _very_ good care of you."

Evan had had enough. "Let go of him now, you filthy beast. You know nothing about taking care of a child—hell, you fuck them and eat them for breakfast. Take your paws off of him before I curse them off along with those balls of yours!"

The wolves around Evan snarled and began to close in, only to be stopped by Greyback's hands. He raised his hands slowly off of the crafter and pushed Harry back towards his guardian, but not before nudging Harry's backside with a hand.

"Pervert," Harry muttered once he was safely in Evan's grasp. He heard an amused chuckle and bit back a smile.

"Do not harm the boy too much," Greyback warned. "He is valuable to us, the key to gaining back our freedom. We will guard the location and tell no one of your appearance, but in return, you will care for the boy and you will bring us more people to turn, children and women in particular. We need strong ties and females in our pack."

The werewolf paused. "And I want something else.

Evan curled his arm around Harry's shoulders possessively. "I've told you already, Greyback. You can't have him."

Rather than the expected anger, Greyback merely tilted his head back and gave a barking laugh. "I know that, Rosier. He belongs to the Mother." He spoke the world in whispered reverence. "Which means he doesn't belong to you either."

Before Evan could retaliate with another retort, Greyback continued. "I want him here. For the full moon."

"Absolutely not."

"You haven't even heard my reason," Greyback snarled disdainfully.

Evan sneered in return. "It's painfully obvious. You want to turn him into a werewolf so you can keep him under your power."

"I would never," Greyback snarled with such ferocity that Evan looked momentarily taken aback. "He is a crafter. He must remain pure or else his power will die out. No, I want him so he can experience the Moon. He knows magic, but he has never felt the caress of the Moon. With his connection to magic, he can connect to the Moon just as we do, if not more intimately."

Evan glared at the werewolf suspiciously. "You're not an altruist, Greyback. You and I both know that. What's in it for you?"

Greyback gave a smile full of pointed teeth. "His presence will calm us. Legend has it that a crafter will increase the magic connection between the Moon and werewolves, allowing us to lose more of our obstructive humanity. No more wild aggression from the battle between our human and wolf side—we will experience power like never before." His smile twisted into a smirk. "Of course, this is all myth. I would like to see if this is true."

Evan pondered the offer. It was imperative that Harry take advantage of all the powers a crafter had to offer. And if Harry could sway the werewolves with his magic and connection to the Moon, then the Dark Lord wouldn't have just Greyback's pack on his side, but all the werewolves in Great Britain, maybe even Europe.

Nodding his head curtly, Evan tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder briefly so that the boy would know to stay and moved forward. He offered a hand stiffly. "Then so be it. You will have continued sanctuary in our lands and have the child for the full moon. In return we have your protection and secrecy."

Greyback peered at the offered hand. "No. I want to seal the deal with the boy."

Without hesitation, Evan reached behind and pulled Harry forward. The boy's body was stiff in protest but he made no sound.

Harry approached the werewolf for the second time. He towered over Harry, almost twice the size of the raven-haired crafter. Swallowing nervously, he offered a hand and watched with trepidation as his arm began to shake.

Greyback merely looked amused. He raised his hand slowly and firmly clasped his rough, calloused hand around Harry's thin forearm. Pulling the boy close, he leaned down and rested his forehead on the forehead of the crafter and whispered, "Then so mote it be, crafter."

Harry was shoved back, blinking in confusion. He could still feel the bite of Greyback's nails in his skin and he shivered.

Giving a smile full of teeth and another leer to Harry, Greyback shifted back to his wolf form and let out an earsplitting howl. His pack echoed him and loped off after their Alpha.

Harry breathed out in relief and leaned against Evan's body. "Thank Merlin," he whispered. His body felt dirty from Greyback.

"Yes, we must go," Evan said, frowning. He wiped his hands on his trousers and sighed.

The two continued their trek around a small circle of trees and up a hill. Both opted to ignore the whisper of wolves padding behind them. Finally, when they reached a large iron gate, Evan reached up to touch the elaborate lock in the middle. The snake encircling the lock reached out and sank its fangs into Evan's palm, drawing blood and tasting it to secure Evan's identity.

_Yessss…. This is Master….._

Harry recoiled in shock. These snakes talked too?

He weighed the option of trying to talk to them again, but he didn't want to look foolish in front of Evan. Merlin knows how ridiculous he'd look trying to talk to a now inanimate snake.

"Come, don't stand around, child," Evan said impatiently, dragging Harry along.

Harry looked up at their new home and gave a smile. It was much smaller than a manor; more cabin than house.

"This is where you will be training," Evan said softly. "Where you will learn your heritage, your strengths, your weaknesses, and where you will become a true crafter."

Harry did not flinch at the words. He stood up tall, taking on a confident stance that Evan had drilled into him, and nodded resolutely.

He would become a crafter. He would become the best one there ever was, and he would fight for the Dark Lord and free the dark.

That is, if he survived Greyback and his werewolves.

* * *

Hope you all liked that chapter! I did in particular. Anyways, I hope I will get a couple more responses this time. I know it sounds stingy and I too hate authors who beg for reviews, but to be honest, they aren't wrong in that it is the reviews that fuel the story.

Nevertheless, I am eternally thankful to all that are reading this! Also, a side note in case anyone is wondering, this will not become an abuse story. This is literally as far as it will go.

Tell me what you think!


	6. The Mother and the Moon

Sorry for the week delay; I ended up getting sick which pretty much ruined my time schedule. But on the other hand, I just adopted a very cute guinea pig, Buddy, from an animal shelter and I could not be any happier. My dog, on the other hand, is on a jealousy rampage.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Thank you all for reading! And again, more thanks to **Roheryn's** **Knight** for taking the time to beta!

* * *

_Chapter Five: The Mother and the Moon_

_Friday—November 2, 1990_

It was nearly nine and the full moon was due to rise at ten.

Harry stood stiffly in the hallway as Evan waved his wand around Harry's body, weaving protective charm after charm.

After the initial shock of finding werewolves wore off, Harry began to feel like a piece of meat being bargained for between Evan and Greyback. He scowled for the umpteenth time.

Harry didn't even flinch when Evan lightly slapped his cheek.

"Don't scowl like that, child. I am not sending you to your doom."

"That's what you think," Harry muttered.

Evan gave a stern frown. "You saw the research just as clearly as I did. What Greyback said was true. And I don't believe he has the power to harm you even if he intended to do so. He is connected to magic, much like you are, except a lot weaker. If needed, you can overpower him. Defeat Greyback and his pack will submit to you. You remember the spells, yes?"

Harry did remember. They were cruel spells that infused silver with magic and would stake right over the heart. It was getting the silver that was the hardest part in casting. He was still utterly new and useless to wand magic and would have to depend on his crafter magic.

Sighing, Harry shrugged on a coat and buttoned it to his chin to protect himself from the freezing weather outside. Putting his hands in the pockets to hide his nervousness, Harry looked up at Evan, cocking his head at the man's expressionless face.

"I'm not going to die, am I?"

This time, it was Evan who scowled. "No you won't, foolish boy. Have I ever put you in danger as your grounder?"

_You are the danger_, Harry's mind whispered.

Instead, Harry shook his head obediently and pulled on what he hoped was a confident mask. But before he could give his farewells, he heard the familiar sound of wood clattering on the floor. His eye caught Evan's trembling hand and he took a slow step back.

Evan gritted his teeth and gripped his right hand in his left with all his might, digging his fingers into the useless flesh and drawing blood. He let out a low hiss under his breath.

Harry backed up with wide eyes. "I will see you tomorrow morning," he whispered before ducking out of the door. He heard something smash on the other side and let out a breath of relief.

The relief didn't last long. Right outside of the gates was an unfamiliar man. He was tall—at least six foot—and had long black hair that was tied in a loose pony tail. The man wore nothing but a pair of trousers, revealing his perfectly shaped muscles that tightened and bulged at every movement. Bright blue eyes watched Harry curiously as the crafter appeared, passing through the wards effortlessly and opening the gate.

"Hello," he said softly, tilting his head up so he could look at the werewolf. He did, however, remember to not make eye contact.

"Hello little one," the man said softly. "It is an honor to meet a crafter. My name is Blackclaw. I am Fenrir Greyback's second in command."

Harry felt awkward as he reached forward to clasp hands with Blackclaw. There was probably some kind of werewolf etiquette he had forgotten about and he hoped he wasn't insulting the man.

"Pleasure," he muttered.

Blackclaw tilted his head but did not speak. He seemed like the strong and silent type, and he moved with fluid confidence that blurred with his inner predator.

"Follow me," he said lowly. "I will lead you to our pack. The Moon shines bright today, I can feel her already." An excited gleam appeared in his eyes. "She can feel you too. We all can."

Harry decided not to question how the man could feel something from the _moon_ and instead followed the man silently. Blackclaw seemed to be not bothered by the silence and continued on, occasionally stopping to sniff at the air.

The snowfall was gradually growing worse, up the point where Harry could barely see a foot from his face. He struggled to keep his eye on Blackclaw's ponytail, and he felt a jolt of fear when all he could see was white.

Before he could yell out for the werewolf, a pair of strong, thick arms wound around his waist and picked him up as if he was light as a feather.

"What the—" he began. He felt himself be placed on someone's back and he instinctively wrapped his legs around the man's middle, simultaneously clinging onto Blackclaw's shoulder for balance.

Blackclaw didn't say a word. He merely continued walking as if nothing had changed. The snow barely fazed him, and Harry found himself burying his head into the werewolf's neck so the cold wind wouldn't freeze his face.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Blackclaw had drawn to a stop. The blizzard had cleared up to the point where Harry could actually see, and suddenly, he wished that the snow could cover him again.

There were werewolves surrounding them, all crouching on their haunches and staring up at Harry riding piggyback style on their Beta.

Coloring, he dropped down, landing roughly on his knees. Dusting off his legs, he stood up straight, gathering all the training Evan had given him and closed his embarrassment off.

The crouching men and women parted to let Greyback through. His grey hair clung wetly to his face and his yellowed eyes were bright in excitement.

He reached the two and pushed the Beta back with a single hand, giving a low warning snarl that was met with a submissive tilt of the head and hunched shoulders. Satisfied, he turned his attention on the delicious crafter in front of him.

"Harry," he murmured. "Crafter. Be welcome."

And for some odd reason, Harry did feel welcome. "Thank you," he said cautiously, eyes alert in case Greyback would reach out and fondle him.

The old werewolf didn't, much to Harry's surprise. Instead, he looked up at the rising moon with a deep breath. "The Moon is strong tonight," he whispered. "Her ties will be strong. Can you feel the Moon, Harry?"

His curiosity piqued, Harry concentrated and found it. There was a subtle pull to his magic, pulling it up and up. It wasn't a malignant force, only peaceful and free. Harry could taste the subtle flavor of wilderness and protectiveness in the magic, which thrummed and sang steadily louder as the moon rose.

Intrigued, he focused his eyes to see the webs surrounding the clearing. To his surprise, there was little magic in the area. He could see few magical auras in the crowd but all shared the same pulsing light in the chest area. It was dark, with tendrils that spread out across each and every body, linking it to the curse. Lycanthropy.

"Yes," he answered. "It is much like the touch of the Mother."

Greyback gave a sigh that sounded suspiciously like content. "The Moon draws on the Mother and the Mother on the Moon. They are interconnected, much like Dark is to Light." He turned his head around and stared at Harry with glowing eyes. "I suppose your precious grounder hasn't told you this."

"Yes he has," Harry bluffed.

Greyback gave a bark of bitter laughter. "And through his torment, you still stand beside him. I wonder what he has done to gain such loyalty. Coercion? Threats? Manipulation?"

_The right timing and a set of vows_, Harry amended in his mind. But outside, he remained silent.

Greyback sighed in irritation when he received no reply. But there was no time to force answer out of the boy. He could feel the Moon rising and rising—

And howls burst into the air. The Moon's light illuminated the clearing where dozens of men and women were thrashing and screaming in pain. Bones cracked and snapped as each body lengthened out and hunched over, rough fur spurting in patches and a muzzle lengthening from the face.

It was a sickening sight and Harry almost turned away. His stomach turned at the sight, but soon it was over.

In place of the men and women were enormous werewolves. Rather than their regular wolf appearance, the werewolves had distinctive humanistic characteristics. They could stand on either four or two legs with humanoid hands tipped with crooked, sharp claws that could easily tear a wizard in half. Their bodies were as muscled and burly as their previous form but all sparks of humanity were drowned in amber eyes of wilderness.

Harry gasped as the werewolves fell on four legs and began snuffling the ground, moving closer and closer to where he stood. They snapped their heavy jaws, saliva dripping onto the ground and pawed at the ground. He could tell Greyback easily from the rest. The Alpha stood hunched over on his powerful back legs, his body shaking with each snarl of breath.

As the werewolves continued to approach, Harry could feel his panic rising. He twitched his fingers, wondering if he should incant the silver spells and escape while he still had the chance. Evan's wrath was almost like a kitten compared to rabid werewolves.

At his back, a small werewolf darted forward and snapped his jaw around Harry's cloak.

Shrieking, Harry pulled back, only to trip on the caught cloak and fall straight on the ground. He closed his eyes and waiting for the final bite when he heard a bloodthirsty roar that was followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground and a squeal of pain.

Something cold touched his cheek and Harry looked up into a pair of amber eyes. He yelped when he realized it was Greyback hunched over him, his thick forelegs trapping him close. Wriggling to get free, Harry didn't realize that his movements did nothing but excite the werewolf more.

Gritting his teeth, Harry lay back down when he felt the werewolf ghost his teeth over the juncture of his neck. Wasn't Greyback supposed to _not_ attack him?

Suddenly, it struck him. Of course! He had never connected with the Moon before—all he had to do was establish a connection.

Clenching his fists together, he gave a sigh of relief when the familiar webs of magic appeared in front of him. But this time, each and every body beside him was cloaked in a pale yellow web that trembled and whispered, tying around their bodies and connecting with the curse inside of each werewolf. There was a subtle line of magic that led up from each wolf up to the sky and presumably to the Moon.

Harry stared up at the web around Greyback and hesitantly raised his hand. The gray werewolf gave a vicious snarl but for the first time in days, Harry felt no fear. Bypassing the giant head, he placed his fingers around the Moon's web and gently pulsed some of his own magic into it.

There was a spark of recognition and Harry felt something flow into him like an unstoppable flood. He arched his back off of the ground and gave a piercing scream as foreign magic so strong and potent overwhelmed his own fledging magic.

The pain seemed to never end, flowing through every vein and nerve and wrenching every last shriek from is throat.

Was this the end? Was he to die at the hands of magic itself?

But as soon as the magic had filled him into the core, it cut off and dissolved into his own magic, no doubt infusing some of its properties with those of a crafter.

Harry lay gasping on the floor. He could feel the hot, putrid breath of Greyback brush against his neck and the warmth from the werewolf's body seep into his. A rough tongue swiped up from his shoulder to his ear before the body moved away, leaving Harry exposed.

Sitting up cautiously, Harry stood shakily and looked around at his surroundings. The werewolves were no longer snarling threateningly and looked as if a touch of sanity had seeped through the wild blood thirst of the werewolf. The wolves moved around, greeting each pack mate and playfully tussling.

Harry had no idea what was going on, but he could feel something strange coursing through his body. He could feel the powerful, loving presence of the Moon, wrapping her soothing magic around him like a mother's embrace. Fueled by the surge of magic, Harry leapt to his feet with surprising agility and stared at Greyback, noticing for the first time how utterly _enormous_ the man was. Muscles rippled and bulged, forming almost humanlike shapes. His fur was a dirty gray and teeth the length of butcher knives flashed threateningly. Harry blushed horribly when he realized that the man, along with all of the other werewolves, was naked.

A low growl was uttered by the Alpha and Harry found himself averting his eyes. When the rumble died away, he felt a cold nose touch his neck. Forcing himself to not move, Harry held his breath as the nose the size of his palm sniffed at him before a gust of air was exhaled from the wolf.

Breathing out in relief, Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as the werewolf loped off to join his pack. The Alpha tilted back his great furred head and let out a long howl that was quickly echoed by his pack. Harry found himself throwing his head back and screaming a human-like howl into the sky. And as the pack ran off into the forest, tongues lolling and eyes crazed with bloodlust, Harry found himself following at an incredible speed his mind just as clouded with the hunt mentality.

The pack sang and sang of magic, magic sang and sang around them, and Harry felt himself spiraling away.

* * *

_Saturday—November 3, 1990_

Harry woke up groggily. Groaning, he flipped over onto his back and reached up to wipe the grit from his eyes. His body felt as if a herd of hippogriffs had stampeded over it and a muggle truck had hit him straight on. Sore and utterly exhausted, Harry looked up into the cloudless sky.

A face suddenly appeared into his vision. The man was grinning wolfishly.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"What?" Harry muttered sleepily. "Who…?"

It hit him. Greyback. The full moon.

Harry sat up quickly but found himself blinded by white spots. Groaning, he hunched over, his hand pressing against his throbbing forehead. He dared not look up at Greyback.

"Ugh, what happened last night? I feel half dead."

"You look half dead too," Greyback mused before giving a leering grin. "I do have to admit, it's a good look on yeh."

Blinking, Harry looked down. He was naked. Stark naked. With dried blood covering his body like a second layer of skin.

Giving a shout of shock, Harry curled around himself to protect what little modesty he had left. "Stop looking you pervert," he nearly shouted, his face blushing bright red.

Greyback chuckled in sick humor. Behind him, Harry could see with mortification that the entire pack was watching the two, all of them as bare as he was.

Feeling the heat in his cheeks bloom, he glanced around, desperate to find a piece of clothing to hide behind. A hand reached out and offered a ripped, but intact cloak. Snatching it, Harry drew it around his body and sighed in relief as it covered all that needed to be covered. He looked at the owner of the hand and stared up at Blackclaw.

"Thank you," he murmured, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

Greyback had the audacity to look disappointed. "It's a shame, pup. You have _nothing_ to be ashamed about."

Harry wanted to vomit. "I'm _ten_."

"Even better."

Shivering at the pedophile, Harry forced himself to ignore the man's perverse nature. "What happened last night?"

"You bonded with the Moon, much like how we do," Greyback answered roughly. He moved forward, shoving Blackclaw away roughly so he could stand closer to the crafter. Without asking for permission, he ducked down and took a long sniff at his neck.

"I'm not a werewolf, am I?" Harry asked in panic.

Greyback gave another lecherous grin. "No. But I could change that for you, little one. The Moon loves you—I can feel it—I doubt she will mind if you agree."

Harry sighed in relief. "No, thank you." He paused. "Why aren't you and your pack resting? I've read that the days following a full moon is painful and exhausting. Merlin knows I feel that."

"It's the crafter business. When you connected with the Moon, you and her shared magic for the night. That extra magic reached out to us and we became more intertwined with our alternate forms. That's why you're so valuable to werewolves, crafter. You strengthen us just as the Moon strengthens you."

"I don't feel very strengthened," Harry muttered. His arms and legs felt like jelly and a haze was slowly clouding his mind.

"I should be getting you back to your grounder," Greyback mused, his eyes flashing at the mention of Evan. "Promised the bastard to get you back at a reasonable time."

Harry groaned at the prospect of having to get up. "I don't think I can move anytime soon."

At Harry's response, Greyback gave a vague gesture and Harry gave a shout as he was lifted up easily and held bridal style against the rock hard chest of Blackpaw.

The man had a fond expression on his face. "Hello Harry," he said.

"Don't molly coddle him, Blackclaw," Greyback snapped, something shifting across his face. "Take him back to the other wizard. Be quick about it."

Bowing his head, Blackpaw turned around with Harry in his arms and began a slow jog back into the thick forest.

They continued in silence before Harry forced his slackened mouth to move. "Was what Greyback said true? What my presence did to the werewolves?"

Blackclaw remained quiet for some time before replying. "Yes. There was something different during the full moon. I felt more in control of myself and more powerful. I could feel the brush of your magic, much like how I can feel it now."

Harry had no idea his magic could do such a thing but made no comment. Instead he asked, "Do you remember what we did last night?"

"We hunted," Blackclaw said quietly. "And we ate. Some mated, some fought, some slept."

"Does Greyback have a mate?"

"No," Blackclaw shook his head. "He doesn't want a mate. Thinks it will slow him down. And he is Alpha, a good one too."

Harry frowned. "Do you have a mate?"

Blackclaw didn't pause in his steps, but his eyes looked briefly shaken. "I did. She died before we could mate, however. I think the fact that I am mate-less is one of the reasons why Greyback chose me as Beta."

"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry," Harry whispered, feeling incredibly stupid for bringing up such a sensitive subject. "Werewolves can mate again, right? They have no destined mate like Veela."

"That's correct, little one," Blackclaw replied with a hint of a smile. "But I have no interest in a mate right now. And I've yet to find someone of my interest."

Nodding, as if the issues of mating made sense to his ten-year old self, Harry felt his eyes begin to droop. "That's good," he muttered. "Good." He licked his lips and tasted the sharp copper of blood. Forcing his eyes back open, Harry peered back up at Blackclaw. "Where's this blood from?"

Blackclaw looked down. "Mostly deer blood from the hunt. There was a brief scrimmage between us and some intruders, but I doubt you were there for any part of it."

Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember if he was battling any rogue werewolf or wizard but found none. "That's good," he repeated.

Blackclaw gave a deep chuckle. "Go sleep, little one. We owe you much for last night. Rest."

Obeying, Harry closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep.

Blackclaw continued his slow jog through the forest. Occasionally, he would look down at the fragile boy in his arms and something would tighten in his chest.

The boy. The first crafter in centuries. He remembered his parents and grandparents telling him and his brothers about the legends of powerful crafters, whose presence would strengthen a pack in moral and magic. They were pure creatures that should be worshiped and revered. As the voice and embodiment of the Mother herself, Blackclaw couldn't see how anyone could hate a crafter.

At first, Blackclaw had been skeptical of this Harry. He was petite, with large eerie green eyes and a mop of black hair that stuck out in every possible direction. While Blackclaw could feel the soft touches of the boy's magic, he couldn't sense the boy being in anyway special.

But after the full moon, when Blackclaw had woken up thrumming with energy and magic, his opinion of little Harry had risen.

Blackclaw looked down again at the boy and vowed to protect the little crafter. He was against almost impossible odds—a rising Dark Lord, Light hegemony, and an unstable childhood.

Finally, when Blackclaw arrived at the gate he had picked up the crafter at, he noticed a small trail of blood dotting the snow up to the front door. He frowned and sniffed at the air.

The blood was fresh, possibly from last night, and it smelt familiar.

It was from one of the intruders.

Growling, Blackclaw shifted away so that his back was against the gate. A low snarl began to build in his chest as the front door was thrown open and a tall, elegantly dressed man strode out. There was a bandage wrapped tightly around the man's torso, and brilliant violet eyes were nearly sparking in anger.

"I will kill you. You and that mangy pack of yours," the man snarled, snapping his wand at the duo. "Let go of the boy."

"No," Blackclaw snarled. He felt his claws lengthen and gently placed the crafter on the snow. However, the movement jarred Harry out of his slumber and he blinked up at Blackclaw, then at the man.

The boy's eyes widened in horror.

"Evan!" he shouted, struggling to get back onto his feet. "You're hurt!"

"Don't move," Blackclaw snarled, crouching down in a protective stance. "He wants to hurt you."

Evan let out a mocking chuckle. "How precious, wolf." He turned to Harry's fallen figure. "Come in, Harry. We have _much_ to discuss."

Harry felt his body shiver. He felt the nudging command of the grounder as his conscious whispered for him to trust his guardian.

Blackclaw looked skeptical. He looked down at the crafter, a rumbling growl still low in the air.

"Thank you for protecting me," Harry said softly as he forced himself on his feet. "But he is my guardian. He won't hurt me." He looked contemplative for a moment before touching Blackclaw lightly on his arm, his sharpened fingernails making a series of half-moon indents on the werewolf's skin.

Evan remained expressionless, but his sneer clearly conveyed his distaste. Blackclaw looked a tidbit worried but remained stony as Harry made is way over the wards, crossing directly into Evan's domain.

Following the furious man indoors, Harry looked back once more to see Blackclaw gone. Sighing, hoping that the man would still be friendly next full moon, Harry entered, ready to face Evan's wrath.

Surprisingly, the man actually had a lot to say to Harry.

"When I felt our connection pull and stretch, I thought that Greyback had done something foolish like try and turn you," Evan confessed as Harry nursed a cup of hot tea. "I went out to find you. And I did." His mouth twitched downward. "You were naked like a ruffian, but your green eyes glowed eerily. You didn't recognize me, but something must have told the werewolves that I was a threat because they began to attack me." He gestured to his injured side. "Thankfully, I was not bitten. I would rather die than become a dirty mutt like them."

Evan's face blanked out. "Tell me what happened last night."

And so Harry did, about the connection with the Moon, about how the werewolves had welcomed him like a pack number after he had touched the Moon's magic, and about what his presence did within the pack.

Evan looked contemplative. Reaching out, he grabbed Harry's right hand and turned it palm upward.

Harry gasped when he saw it. In the middle of his palm was a faint outline of the moon.

"She made a mark on you," Evan said slightly bitterly. He felt possessiveness in him rise. First Lucius, then Greyback and the damn Moon. Harry was _his_. _His_ to give to the Dark Lord.

Instead, Evan gave a sneer. "Go change into something proper. Bloody and naked is _not_ acceptable at the table."

Completely forgetting his predicament, Harry had blushed to the tip of his ears before scampering back to his room and diving into the shower.

After scrubbing himself clean, Harry stood in front of the fogged mirror and wiped a small circle clear for his face. He peered closer, trying to find any lasting effects of the Moon's magic. His eyes didn't look any different from its regular emerald green and his skin was just as pale as it used to be. He glanced down at the moon crescent on his palm and touched it briefly.

A spark of magic pulsed at the touch, but nothing strong enough to give more than a simple nudge of magic.

Sighing in relief, Harry exited the bathroom and padded back into his room. It was small, with a simple twin sized bed and a large desk that was littered with large books and pieces of used pieces of parchment.

Reaching into his chest, he pulled out a set of comfortable clothes and changed, relishing in the feel of silk against his skin. To his mortification, Harry found himself missing the freedom of being naked. Pushing the thought far, far away, Harry climbed back down stairs.

Evan was nowhere to be found. A simple sandwich and apple was placed on the breakfast table. Without so much a word, Harry sat back down and attacked the lunch.

When he had eaten his fill, Harry felt around with his magic and sensed Evan down in the basement. Following the trace of magic, he found Evan leaning nonchalantly against the cobbled wall.

With a wave of his wand, a cauldron was placed on the ground with a bang right next to a table equipped with a balance, a mortar, a pestle, and a number of peculiar looking ingredients.

"If I can't teach you magic or dueling," Evan started, "you can start with potions."

Harry felt a vague sense of excitement worm through his exhaustion. Potions was something he had always been interested in.

Evan placed an opened tome on the ground and pointed at the first page. There were instructions on one side and the directions to make a boil cure potion.

"You've read on potions theory. Now it's time you try the practical side."

Nodding in acquiescence, Harry skimmed through the instructions and put out the necessary ingredients.

Taking six snake fangs from the jar, Harry placed the delicate materials in the mortar and crushed them into fine powder. He could feel Evan's eyes judging his every move and forced himself to react. Double checking the instructions, Harry added four measures of the fine powder into the cauldron and used his magic to spark a gentle flame at the bottom.

He didn't know what went wrong, but at the spark of magic, something exploded and Harry felt himself fly backwards and hit the wall with a sickening crack.

Putrid green smoke was filling the room. Harry had inhaled a good deal of it before Evan vanished it with a simple flick of his wand. The man strode forward, anger evident on his face.

"Foolish boy!" Evan hissed, dragging Harry back on his feet. "How can one so proficient in magic fail so miserably at common sense?"

Harry frowned and leaned down to read the instructions over again. "But how could I have done that wrong? I've read every step at least twice, and all I did was heat the cauldron."

Evan looked meaningfully at the blown up table and cauldron. A wave of his wand brought the table and tools back to place, but a new cauldron had to be summoned from the storage closet. "Well, since all your evidence was exploded," Evan said dryly, "start again. This time, tell me every step you did."

Harry did so. And just as he heated the cauldron, another explosion rocked the house.

Harry coughed and waved away the smoke. Leaning up on his elbows, Harry looked up into the furious face of Evan.

"I swear I didn't do anything wrong!" he protested hotly. "You heard me say everything!"

"Get up and try again," Evan merely snarled.

Sighing, Harry did just that.

* * *

After an hour of exploding cauldrons, Harry and Evan climbed back upstairs, utterly exhausted and smoking at the edges of their robes.

"It must be your magic," Evan said thoughtfully. "You're made of almost all pure magic. It must have infused with every ingredient you work with."

"So I'll never be able to make potions?" Harry asked, disappointed.

Evan shook his head. "When you gain more control, perhaps when you become fully fledged, you should be able to control what your magic affects." He thought for a bit. "Why don't we work on your wand magic first."

Harry felt decidedly less excited about wand magic but obediently went upstairs to fetch his Hawthorn wand. Feeling it hum in his hand, Harry brought it down to the living room, where Evan was sitting elegantly, one leg crossed over the other.

"Give it a wave," he drawled lazily. "You said it was a match for you at the Ministry, but you had yet to try it."

Feeling ridiculous, Harry gave a wave of his wand. Nothing happened. Not a spark of magic, no fireworks, no explosion, no nothing.

Evan sat up and frowned. "Try and channel some of your magic into it. It's natural that your magic will be reluctant to go into the wand. Force your magic into restraints and _push_."

Pulling his magic back into his body, Harry ignored the struggling magic and sent a small tendril of it through the wand.

This time, something did happen. Something exploded and the room burst into flames.

Yelping, Harry twitched his finger and watched with trepidation as the flames were immediately doused. His wand clattered uselessly to the ground.

Evan hadn't moved an inch and looked unamused. "Control, Harry. I thought you learned plenty of that."

Gritting his teeth, Harry nodded. "I have. My magic is fighting the wand."

"Bend it into your control. You control your magic, not the other way around," Evan snapped.

But his magic belonged to the Mother. He was a tool for her. Regardless, Harry straightened his shoulders and lifted his wand again.

This time, he released his magic from its confines and conjured the webs up. They were dancing as whispering as usual, but the magic hidden inside of the wand seemed despondent and nonresponsive.

Frowning, he caressed the wood, hoping to get the webs to react.

And react it did. A set of red sparks flew out of the wand, albeit a bit weakly, but sparks nevertheless. Harry gave a shout of excitement and turned to Evan with a wide grin.

Evan looked decidedly less impressed. However, a wry smile formed on his face. "It's a good start. For a _regular_ wizard. You're more than that, Harry. Try again."

Touching the webs again, Harry forced a small piece of his magic through the wand. This time, the armchair Evan was sitting on exploded in flames, forcing the older man to jump up and dose the fire in water.

He turned angry violet eyes at the crafter.

"S-sorry," Harry stammered.

"You are useless," Evan hissed. "How can someone with so much magic potential fail so pathetically at not only potions, but wand magic?"

He stormed from the room, robes flicking angrily behind him. Harry stared down at the wand with an accusing look on his face and flung it against the wall in childish petulance.

"Damn wand," he cursed, rubbing his face tiredly. Sitting down on the charred couch, Harry put his head in his hands.

Nothing was going the way it should be. He should be improving, learning more magic so he could fulfill his purpose. Not fail miserably at two subjects in _one_ day. Potions was not so much a loss compared to wand magic.

How was he supposed to blend in with wizards and witches if he couldn't even summon sparks from the wand?

Looking up from his hands, Harry noticed that the webs were still around him. He stared ahead at the webs of magic. They were magic. Why couldn't he use it?

Staring as if they would disclose the secret of using wand magic, Harry began to notice as the webs began to tremble and whisper louder and louder.

_Crafter, Crafter, Crafter_, the webs chanted. They began to spin and weave on their own and Harry found himself unable to move.

_Crafter, Crafter, precious little one, ours, ours, ours, OURS, OURS, MINE, MINE._

The chanting grew louder and louder and Harry found himself crying out with it. His eyes were glued to the webs as they weaved closer and closer, engulfing him in its warm embrace.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew he had fallen in a daydream. It was one of the greatest dangers crafter's faced—the entrancing song of magic could pull them into insanity. And the moment he needed his grounder the most, Evan was gone.

Harry felt a delicate hand caress his cheek and he longed to nuzzle into the affectionate touch. He had missed so much living at the Dursley's; no mother's embrace, kiss, or even words of love.

A woman's face materialized in front of him. It was faint, but her features were impossibly beautiful. She had a pair of piercing ice blue eyes and full red lips that glistened like fresh blood. Her skin was pale and ethereal and her hair was a golden white that tumbled down her back in soft curls. Mouth curving in a gentle smile, she leaned forward so that her lips touched Harry's.

Finally freed of the invisible restrains, Harry fell forward, kept upright only by the mysterious woman's hand. He felt the warmth in his body seep away through his lips and into the woman and he began to shiver from cold. The woman moved forward to enclose Harry in her arms, sharing her growing warmth as she continued to press her lips against the crafter.

The door to the room was suddenly blasted open. As pieces of wood scattered the room, Evan stormed in, his wand held high and eyes glittering in fury.

The woman wrenched her lips away from the crafter, her arms loosening and causing Harry to fall backwards limply against the couch. She hissed lowly, her once kind face turning rigid and dangerous. The webs rose higher and higher in the room and began to scream. Harry wondered if Evan could hear them.

"This is my domain," Evan said in an ugly voice. "I am his grounder. Here, in this realm, he is _mine_. You will not take him from me."

The woman gave another hiss and crouched above the boy in an aggressive stance. She raised a hand and a glowing ball of pure magic formed, cracking and sparking in the air.

Evan didn't even look tickled. "You kill me, you kill the boy. Do you remember? You created him and our link. We are forever bound. I dare you. I dare you to kill the last link to this realm."

The woman recoiled as if slapped. Her features softened and her lips opened.

**Evan Rosier. Son of Agron Rosier and Druella Black née Rosier. I speak on the behalf of Her. The crafter's path is not right. He is not fit to serve who he is. You take him on a path separate then what it should. He is a danger and liability to Her and to everyone.**

"Be gone, Angel," Evan growled, waving his wand in a complicated pattern. "Be gone back to your Mistress and serve her as she deserves. This crafter is possibly the last link to this realm. How long do you think it would take for another to be born? It took centuries last time, would you so foolishly risk another hundred years?"

The Angel's face distorted in anger. She gave an angry shriek and launched forward at Evan, but whatever spell he was casting sparked into effect and she was forcibly banished.

Stumbling from the force of the spell, Evan leaned on the wall for support and breathed heavily. The bracelet on Harry's wrist had alerted him of the daydream. He suspected to find Harry sitting wide-eyed on the couch, not under an Angel, a servant of the Mother, who was in the midst of sucking the life and powers from Harry.

Forcing himself across the room, Evan fell disgracefully to his knees and rolled Harry over so that the boy was lying on his back. Feeling for a pulse, he gave a soft sigh of relief when he felt a weak, but steady pulse under his fingers.

Smoothing the child's hair back, he silently chastened himself. He had pushed the crafter too far. Of course Harry would never be as proficient in potions or wand magic. It was the nature of the crafter to use free, unrestrained magic. Delicate ingredients and wood would do him no good.

But he would have to learn. And Evan would bury his anger and his impatience to do what's best. He promised the crafter to the Dark Lord and to the Dark side.

Harry Potter would have to be perfect.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat down in an arm chair in the drawing room, a cup of tea held delicately in his hand. Beside him, his wife, Narcissa, was reaching over to take the morning's Daily Prophet. His lip curled slightly at sight of the newspaper and he turned his attention back onto his tea.

And more importantly, his attention back onto the boy Evan was hiding.

He hadn't forgotten. Oh no, he had only been more intrigued. The boy was a gem. A diamond amongst miles and miles of stone and dirt. Magic so strong and so pure was almost unfound in the world today; the only other man with equal power was the Dark Lord.

And despite his loyalties, Lucius couldn't help but wonder not if, but _when_ the boy would surpass the Dark Lord.

Before he could put more thought into it, a quiet gasp interrupted his thoughts. Turning to his wife, he raised a perfect brow in concern.

"Yes, dear? What is it?" he felt his mouth turn downwards in a sneer. "Don't tell me that hag Rita Skeeter has dug up some scandalous information on the Minister yet again."

Narcissa shook her head. She held herself primly, like the perfect Pureblood witch, and her every move spoke of elegance and grace. Yet her hand shook as she handed the newspaper to her husband.

Lucius sipped his tea as he opened the newspaper up, only to spit it out in horrified surprise as he saw a picture of his face plastered on the front page.

**Head Auror attacked! Malfoy Patriarch Under Suspicion for Ministry Break In!**

"For Merlin's sake," Lucius swore. He turned his eyes on his wife, who was looking at him suspiciously. He raised his hands, palms turned outwards in innocence. "This was not me, Narcissa. I swear it. "

Her face grew colder. "You know just as much as I do how important it is for us to lay low," she hissed. "We have a reputation to uphold and a son to support. You doing illegal things in public will do no good to our family, let alone bringing our _son_?"

"Narcissa, this wasn't me," he placated. "I haven't been out to visit any of my… friends since the Dark Lord disappeared." He suddenly remembered something and his face turned an ugly puce. "Evan Rosier."

"What does Evan Rosier have to do with any of this?" Narcissa snapped.

"Tell me," Lucius whispered. "You said that Draco was there."

Narcissa looked at him oddly. "Yes."

_Damn you, Rosier_, he swore.

"Polyjuice," he deduced. "Draco was at the Parkinson's house last night. I visited Rosier weeks ago—he must have somehow obtained a hair while I was there." His mind flashed back to the image of the thrashing boy embodied in so much magic that it was tangible even to him. Rosier—that sneaky bastard—must have gotten the hairs then.

Narcissa's eyes flashed. She stood up, her posture straight and stiff. "Then you will clear up this mess whatever the cost."

Lucius watched as his wife strode away, heels clicking angrily against the marble surface. He leaned back against the armchair and gave a deep sigh. He had forgotten how much of an inconsiderate bastard Rosier was.

A house-elf popped by Lucius's side. The house-elf's eyes were bulging and red rimmed, and it wailed, "Master Lucius! Topsy tries to stop them, but theys be wanting to see Master Lucius!"

Lucius regarded the house-elf with contempt. "Slow down, you foolish creature. Who wishes to see me?"

Topsy trembled. "The Aurors, Master Lucius. Topsy be telling them they not allowed inside of the manor, but theys be having a warrant! Master Lucius must go and tell guests to go away!"

Aurors. Bloody Aurors.

Lucius put his head into his hands and cursed the existence of Evan Rosier.

* * *

Thanks to all that read! And especially thanks to my reviewers. I don't want to be needy, but I really need more feedback to keep me going and to be able to determine what interests my readers. Please leave me a comment, be it one word or twenty.

On a happier note, the Superbowl is tomorrow (for all you Americans out there) and go Seahawks!

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